Unlike the Last Time
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: AU Ani/Padme. Anakin married someone else, fell to the Dark Side as she died, but won the fight with Obi-Wan on Mustafar. Now he pursues Obi-Wan across the stars, searching for the son his former mentor stole from him. Landing on Earth, the Sith Lord meets his match in a fiery U.S. Senator named Padme. Reviews are love!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: One-shot (I think?) between Padme and Anakin. This came to me as something between two diffrerent characters, but I quickly figured out it was Anakin and Padme I was writing. An odd story idea that just needed to be told.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

His fingertips traced a gentle arch across the back of her shoulders, bringing about a rise of goose bumps in their passing. Padme shivered deliciously, her body tensing, waiting for the moment when his touch would return to her flesh. It was wrong, she knew, so wrong to want his touch. He was her captor, a military general from another world-from another galaxy, no less-and yet she could not stop the desire that rose within her, the way her breath quickened.

"These are the last hours we will spend here together, Padme," he whispered. "The last time we will touch on this planet."

She closed her eyes, not trusting herself to speak right away. How she had hated him but two weeks before... how she wanted him now more than anything. "I know," she whispered in return, her voice barely audible. A slight smile touched her lips. "Soon you'll be back to conquering in the name of your Empire. The mighty Lord Vader will reign supreme."

His laughter caressed her more intimately than any touch could, bringing about another shiver. It wasn't a charming laugh, a sound that would wash across her like liquid silver. No, that sound belonged only to a man she had never met, had only heard across the communicator device Anakin used. Anakin's laugh was as rough as it was quiet, controlled and bathed in a sense of command that she could not ignore. It was a real laugh, a sound born of the knowledge of harsh battles and breath-taking landscapes. It was the sound of someone that knew pain and pleasure quite well.

He was still behind her, standing so close she could feel him like static in the air. The faint whiff of spice filled her senses, mingled with an undercurrent of soap and the delicious spicy scent that was all his own. Her nostrils flared slightly, rolling his unique smell through her mind, memorizing it. If this was the last time that they were to be together...

His hand reached out, seizing her wrist and pulling her back against him before she could react, bringing her other wrist to cross against the first so that her arms were pinned across her heart. She closed her eyes again, breath coming faster. It was the same position she'd been in when they'd first met... The day her belief in the universe had been forever changed. Earth wasn't alone in the galaxy. There were humans that had spanned the length of it long before the apes on this planet had developed opposable thumbs.

Anakin had landed his shuttle quite literally in her backyard. He and about fifty or so of his men had turned her luxury home into a command base, and had taken her prisoner in the process. For two weeks she had worked alongside the "Imperials" as they called themselves, searching for a man named Obi-Wan. Anakin had explained that this "rebel" had crash-landed on the planet after an entanglement with a "Star Destroyer." Padme had had no idea what a "Star Destroyer" was, but if finding this Obi-Wan meant that Anakin and his buddies would leave her in peace, she was all for helping them.

She was not "all for" falling in love with Anakin, himself.

His lips blazed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. A sound not meant for words left her lips, her wrists straining against his grasp reflexively. His hands contracted tightly, holding her firmly against him. "Padme..." he whispered.

He would never love her like she wanted. He'd been very up front about that from the beginning. His heart was already claimed by two devotions. The first belonged to a woman long dead, his first wife and the mother of his son. The second was to the Empire. But there was enough left for this, she knew. There was enough left to find comfort and solace with someone for a short amount of time.

She tried to respond, to whisper his name aloud, but found the sounds too degrading, too profane, for what she wanted to remember. All she wanted to hear was his voice, to commit it to memory for the rest of her life. Never was she going to meet a man like this again. And never would she taint these final moments with the vulgarity of her own voice.

He picked up on that as she knew he would, and one of his hands gripped her layered wrists, holding her arms pinned as they were. The other disappeared, and the sound of silk ripping filled the silence. She shivered as the cool air touched her exposed back, as the delicious torture of his warm mouth closed over the nape of her neck. That one free hand pulled the shreds of that shirt forward, until her clasped fingers held the fabric to her chest in a false attempt at modesty.

His mouth continued across her shoulder blades, until she was drawing in air in long harsh gasps. "Padme…"

She whimpered as his lips returned to her throat, as that free hand of his slid down her arm until it joined the other in front of her. Deft fingers twisted the remains of her shirt around her wrists, binding her tightly. Another deft turn of his hands and her own were drawn up over her head and forced down to the sensitive skin of the back of her neck, the flesh he had just tormented until every nerve was alive with need.

His thumb made quick work of front closure of her bra.

"I should take you with me," he murmured, spinning her around to face him at last, his mouth moving down to the most tender, most alive flesh on her body. "Would you like that, Padme? Would you sit in my quarters, on my bed, and wait for me every night?"

He was bluffing, she knew. He would no more take a permanent lover than she would willingly submit to such a life. It was the game they played every time, the what-if's and the could-be's if Fate had placed them both in different circumstances. She responded to his words as she always did.

"Yes," she mouthed, the words barely a hint of a whisper. "I would serve you, be there for you. Make you my world. Please… take me."

He moaned softly, the sound becoming a growl at the end. She closed her eyes, waiting for it, for the crushing of his mouth on hers, the sweeping of his tongue over and over as it dueled with hers. He didn't disappoint. And the hand that wasn't holding her wrists behind her neck went down, ripping away the last of her clothing, letting expensive linen pants tear and fall like so much rags.

"Padme…"

She screamed into his mouth when he pulled down on her bound hands, forcing her up on tiptoe, and his fingers entered her. Plundered her roughly. There was no sense of tenderness in this, no sharing of feelings or emotions. He demanded the surrender of her body, commanding her as he commanded everything else in his life. The more she resisted, the harder he pushed. Her tears ran hotly down her cheeks as she came, mingled pleasure and pain almost too much to contain in her skin. His mouth broke that life-sustaining contact to let his tongue lick away the salty droplets.

She had no words to give voice to, no breath for anything other than quiet whimpers as the aftershocks of her orgasm quaked through her limbs. Again, it was as he wanted, as always happened. His eyes touched hers, filled with dark delight as hers filled with a touch of fear and beneath that true sorrow. This would be the last time he claimed her, and he would be gone. And she would be lost on this planet that had suddenly become too small for her, searching for another man like him, another strong enough to dominate and even stronger still to know when to let go.

When his mouth touched hers again, it wasn't like always.

She started against him, against the tenderness that had never been there before, against the gentle sweep of his lips. The contrast was jarring compared to the strength of that hand pulling down on her wrists, against the quiet screaming of her muscles as he held her locked up on tiptoes. Helpless to do anything, helpless with just one hand holding her. Such things were so divine, so pleasurable. So sacred.

The kiss lasted so much longer than before, his tongue caressing hers instead of dominating, softly urging her to new warmth inside.

She was unaware of when they tumbled to her bed, of how he managed to undo his belt and pants. But her hands were still bound, the binding looped over the hook he'd installed on her headboard when he'd decided to take her as a lover. How many nights had she lay beside him, sleeping with her hands bound over her head, her legs similarly stretched out and tied to a matching hook on the footboard. He was a cautious man, her Lord Vader. And no matter how she protested her loyalty, he would not allow her to sleep beside him unbound.

The times he took her on the bed, as opposed to the wall or the floor or any other surface that struck his fancy, she was always bound.

He forced her legs apart with his knees, and a glance across his body let her know that soon, oh so soon, he would fill that ache in her, put out the flames he had started and set new tormenting ones to life the moment the others were extinguished. She waited, breath frozen in her lungs, pelvis lifting fractionally of its own accord. Wanting… needing… Always he would smile that darkly possessive smile at that, smug that he had tamed her to his hand, approving of her eagerness to please.

So different from their first meeting, when she had been the fiery US Senator, defiant at every step. Forcing him to chain her, to stun her, to practically execute her just to complete the smallest of actions for his unit. The debates had raged between them, heated words turning into heated glares that turned into heated desires. Which lead to heated kisses… Only for him she had yielded, and only in their private moments. He knew this, appreciated it even, when he heard her yelling at other senators over her phone. Trying to keep her own career afloat while remaining a prisoner of his whims and needs.

Yielding only for him. Like always, only for him.

He bowed his head, hands sliding down her body instead of up it. And when he kissed her, unlike all the other times, it wasn't on her mouth.

She arched up, screamed, bucked against his tongue, against the hands like iron wrapped around her hips, holding her in place. Her head thrashed from side to side, her body shattering on the knife-point of his tongue as it did to her what his fingers had. When her tears fell this time, when the sounds left her lips, they were begging. Begging for freedom from the pleasure sharp enough to become pain. In that, he relented.

Only to return to her mouth, to taste her tears. His hands shifted their grip on her hips, and when his mouth affixed to hers once more, he thrust into her.

She had nothing left inside to deny him, nothing left to resist. But in this he wanted neither. It was time for him to take his pleasure, and the violent forceful pumps of his body were a familiar, welcoming anguish. He drove her to that precipice where pleasure transcended pain and back again, all the while swallowing her cries. Until his pleasure was upon him, and he threw back his head and roared.

He collapsed against her, body trembling, eyes blurred from the mind-emptying experience.

For the first time, she wanted to hold him. Never before had he allowed it, for they were not lovers, for there was no emotion in their relationship. It was physical. That was all. For him. For her. Merely the release of strong attraction. They had silently agreed to such.

But one of her hands had managed to slip free of the bonds. And even though she knew she would pay dearly for doing it, she let that hand trace softly over his hair.

He didn't move. Didn't react. If anything, continued to rest his head against her breasts, breathing ragged from the exertion. Until one hand captured her wrist gently, bringing her palm to his cheek.

"I should take you with me," he murmured against her fingers, eyes rolling up to stare into hers. "It is within my power to do."

A new game, she thought. New round of make-believe, where lust could be as powerful as love. Where they could live on it and tell the rest of the universe to be damned.

"And then what?" she murmured back, heart thundering in her chest. Not out of fear, but out of the coming pain. The pain of loss. "What would you do with me, my lord? Settle me in a house on some planet, or keep me hidden on a ship as your mistress? How long would that last, how long until the inactivity would destroy me, and you would lose interest?"

Those eyes flashed, and for a moment she felt as if she had misjudged him. Had he been serious?

His arms tightened around her, almost crushing the breath from her body. But then he let go, pushing away from her to lie on his back at her side. "You are correct. It would not last."

Something in her died at those words. A tiny hope she hadn't realized was there, a spark of wanting that fizzled and died. "If I close my eyes now and sleep," she whispered. "You'll be gone when I wake, won't you?"

"Yes."

The lump in her throat was infuriating, as was the searing feeling of tears behind her eyes. This wasn't about emotion! This had never been about permanency. Why now, all of a sudden, did she want such things?

She turned on her side, facing away. "Then go," she said, shaking inside that her voice could sound so… ordinary. "I wish you well in your search for this Obi-Wan character. When you find him, thank him for me. This has been a most enjoyable reprieve from the duties of my life."

His hand moved so quickly, ripping her bound hand from the hook and yanking her until she was on top of him. Sudden anger raging in his eyes. "Is it really so easy for you to forget me?"

For the first time in months, she lashed out, hands forming into fists, battering at this man and his audacity. Puny, flailing smacks that he easily deflected. "Bastard," she hissed. "No, it's not that easy. But what do you want from me now, Anakin? You were very clear on what I should expect when we started this. So do not expect me to weep and wail at your departure if you can so easily walk away from me."

A shift of his body and they rolled across the bed, his form pinning her down beneath him. "It is not that easy for me, either. So I expect a little warmth from you when we say our goodbyes."

"I'm not a solider under your command. You can't order me to react as you see fit."

"Can't I? I could leave you here, bound to this bed, and put up a perimeter around your house that no one on your planet can cross. I can leave you to starve to death, whispering my name until your last breath spills across your lips. There are so many things I can do to you, Padme, to get what I want."

She glared at him, remembering why they would never work out even if they tried. She would never surrender her will to him. Her body, yes. But never her will. And he would never do the same. Never give up the ghost of his dead wife.

"No, you can't," she taunted. "Because you'd have to know what you wanted first. And you don't know that."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned down into her face. "Don't I?"

The cry that left her lips as he penetrated her anew was one of shock and desire and pain. He rode her hard, no tenderness this time. Which was fine, as this time her hands were free. Her nails scored down his shoulders and back, down his arms, leaving bloody trails that would scar. Violent and passionate, and as equals this time, turning the sheets into tangles, ripping them here and there. When they screamed out this final, heartbreaking time, it was in unison. It was in pleasure. It was in a pain that had nothing to do with the flesh and everything to do with the heart.

Some long hours later when she regained her senses, sunlight was streaming through the windows of her bedroom. Sorrow and fear squeezed at her heart. Had he truly left her behind? Was he lying on his side of her bed, sleeping? It took every ounce of courage to lift her head, and look over her shoulder…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I decided to make this a multi-chapter fic. And it got really dark on me. So if dark sith-covered romance isn't your cup of tea, please do not read. However, if you like your romance on the dark side, please continue. Thank you for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this little trip. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

He was gone.

She stared at his side of the bed in quite shock.

Sat. And stared. Until dawn gave birth to true day, and that day slowly waned towards evening. Moonlight replaced the sun, the stars twinkling through the double doors of the bedroom that lead out to her garden, casting shadows across the paving stones. They twirled like silent dancers in the soft breeze, echoes of a past still too real to be memory.

But it was memory now. Nothing but memory…

He was gone.

He had left her behind.

And she was utterly alone.

The dawn would rise again before she stirred from those tangled sheets, before she lifted her head from the pillow that still bore his scent. Standing was an exercise in torment, her body ripped and bruised from the force of their final act. Yet she pushed herself upright on her own two feet, staggering naked into her living room. Falling to her knees at the sight of the emptiness.

He had taken all his equipment, all the scanners and map tables and displays. The racks that had gouged her walls when his stormtroopers tossed their weapons upon them carelessly. Holes gaped like wounds in the drywall where mounting brackets had been installed and removed, where her own fist had made impressions in her sheer frustration at her treatment. Where his anger had lashed out at her, instead flinging something heavy with his strange powers into the wall with a satisfying crunch rather than harm her.

Where her heels had drummed against the wall the first time he had taken her.

There was nothing left but wreckage. She didn't have to check every room in the mammoth house to find more evidence of the same.

He was gone.

He had left her behind.

And she was utterly alone.

The broken discarded length of pipe found its way into her hands, a surge of anger and adrenaline deadening her body to the pain of her skin. A new pain that had nothing to do with the physical had taken over, blunting all other in its wake. She swung the pipe like a club, smashing everything. Screaming. Shattering. Screaming. Swinging. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming…

A week she spent in that house, taking a leave of absence from her duties. She called interior decorators to replace everything, citing vandalism as the cause for the destruction. Police came. Took pictures. Took her statement. Filed the charges. Promised they would find the culprit. News media splashed around the story of how someone had dared rob Senator Padme Amidala. Outrage from her political party followed on the television, finger pointing began as this lobbyist or that Senator tried to turn her personal horror into a platform to get his or her agenda heard.

The President assigned her a personal bodyguard as a show of respect and concern.

It was all a political move. But she accepted the guards nonetheless.

When he did not return, she sold the house. Returned to her family for a time in Connecticut. Stayed at the family lake house like when she was a little girl. And cried herself to sleep every night, just like a little girl.

He was gone.

He had left her behind.

And she was utterly _pissed._

She bought a new home a month later that was the opposite of her previous one, a flashy penthouse apartment in a towering skyscraper that overlooked the world, it seemed. What did it matter. She came from money, had more cash flow than this country had debt. She changed the décor, removed all the heavy wood furnishings, the rich fabrics. Everything was modern now, edged in steel, sharp angles and hardened stone. Unbreakable. Indomitable. Unyielding.

She cut her hair. Changed her clothing style.

Modern. Edgy. Tough.

Her critics in the public eye raked her over the coals for her switch. Her allies praised the hard political stance she had taken to go with her new clothing style, her new outlook on life. It won her more support than she lost, more than she could have ever dreamed. And she threw that support behind the military in secret, all the while continuing to follow the wishes of those people who elected her, those people that she represented.

But the military had to come first. He had taught her that.

Just as it was his fault that she had become like this. He that had ripped the innocence off her with his departure and abandonment, showed her that the world was dark and small and infinitely full of disappointments. And how she had planned to repay him! Her support, her money, tossed into a mighty Military Creation Act, a defense grid that would sit in orbit around her planet, waiting for the day he would return. It didn't matter if it was eight months or eighty years until that moment, at least her planet would be ready to face him this time.

He was gone.

He had left her behind.

But she would leave a calling card of her own, a legacy to make him sit up and take notice. A planet safe from his meddling.

The Military Creation Act passed in the Senate eventually, and she was hailed for her foresight in its creation. Re-elected to serve twice as a result. Three years it had taken for the funding to come into place, two more years before construction was complete. Five years total since he'd left her to die alone on a tiny backwater planet. To wander the streets in search of that which could never be found. Not from lack of trying on her part, however.

Lovers came and went, men that became faceless blurs in an endless parade of years. None measuring up to her desires. Once, she had thought she had found someone to at least partially satisfy her needs. The marriage had barely lasted two years, long enough to have her military act passed through Congress. And then it had fallen apart. He had no idea what he'd done wrong, had honestly loved her. Would have done anything for her if she would have let him. Which, in the end, was why she left him.

She did not challenge him in the divorce. Gave him everything he asked for, including half her money. It was the least she could do. And having half of more money than she could ever spend in her lifetime was still more than enough to sustain her needs. The media praised her for her generosity, touted her tenderness for the man that had tried to be her everything.

She'd heard that he'd remarried a year after the divorce, that he had a daughter now. She was happy for him. And every night she returned to her penthouse, accessing that hidden room she'd had built into the place. In it sat only a bed—their bed—with the hooks in the headboard and footboard. With the pillow that no longer smelled of his scent, but she still slept with anyway. Hidden away, like her memories of him. Her secret.

Because he was gone.

He had left her behind.

And she was utterly alone.

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* * *

Five years had passed since he'd walked the primitive streets of that backwater planet. Five years spent in wars, in conquering the galaxy in the name of his Emperor, in glorying in his growing power. Five years of having the populace of thousands of star systems bowing when he passed their way, of men offering to fight and die for his whim. Of establishing an Empire of peace, security, and order. And still, it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

And still he thought of her.

And the ache in his chest.

Because he had left her behind.

It had been easy at first, or so he admitted to himself, to find reasons to hate her. Even that last night together, as she lay nearly broken on the sheets, he had told himself that she was weak and useless. That she would never keep up with him and his demands on her body. She was pathetic, weeping in her sleep, trembling with fear. Unworthy of him in every way, this barbaric woman from her puny little planet. No single woman could have ever been enough for him. Not since the death of his wife, of the gentle Beru he had stolen from the sands of Tantooine.

He repeated that lie over and over. Laughed as he boarded his flagship, gave the orders to head towards their next destination. The hunt for Obi-Wan was still afoot, the clues obtained from this "Planet Earth" enough to set things in motion. He gazed down at the ball of blue and green and white from the viewports of his ship, and told himself the anger he felt was due to Obi-Wan somehow escaping once again.

It had nothing to do with the woman still asleep in her bed, and his decision to leave her behind.

Padme. Her name was Padme Amidala. A Senator for her district… or State, as they called it down there on her world. A world that still fought amongst itself. Absurdly divided its societies based on the color of one's skin and how much wealth one could acquire in a lifetime. Woefully beneath notice. And yet it had produced at least one woman that had taken the sting from his existence for a time, had banked his anger into simmering coals.

He thought of her as the stars turned into lines and the lines became the hypnotic swirling of hyperspace.

He thought of the ache in his chest.

And his anger at leaving her behind.

He sought other ways to forget her in the intervening years. There was always a rebellion to crush, an uppity system that needed to be taught its place in the great war machine that was his Empire. And always there was a girl that bore her face, or her hair, or even a glib word that reminded him of her fire. He would collect them, take them to his bed and eventually break them.

Always it failed. And within days, a body would be removed from his chambers.

They never measured up. They never fought as long as she had, resisted as passionately as she had. They always broke too soon. And when they did, he couldn't stand to look at them any longer. They died screaming, or they died in silence, their minds already shattered by his will. Either way, they died and were forgotten before their bodies cooled.

For a time he put a halt to that pattern, went back to collecting the blonde innocent ones that reminded him of Beru and her sun-bleached hair. They failed him just the same, never living up to her gentleness, her innocence. Beru, the woman that had held him when his mother had died on that forsaken planet. The woman he had claimed as wife after slaying his stepbrother. The only woman he had thought would ever understand him and what he had experienced.

Of course, he had had to tame her, too. She had resisted, called him a monster for killing her husband. But in time she had come to the correct conclusions. She became what he needed at the time, yielding and understanding, giving him a son. He had given her the galaxy on a chain in return, every wish and desire fulfilled. She had never used it, though, never asked for anything. Never really challenged him, he had come to understand, on anything at all.

And as the last innocent girl's body, the one bearing a striking resemblance to the young Beru, was taken from his chambers, he realized that, perhaps, Beru had not been the one for him after all. That perhaps she had broken as quickly as all the others. And that maybe, possibly, in his youth he had misinterpreted her kindness on the eve of his mother's death as something more than just compassion. But Padme… she had understood him. Understood him all too well without having to know what he had suffered.

For the next year he thought of her.

And the ache in his chest.

And his anger at his own foolishness for leaving her behind.

But now… now he was back, walking the paths of memory and reality alike. He knew where she lived now, having stolen it from the minds of the elderly couple that had dared to live in her former house. It now lay in ruins, the fire he had set consuming everything including the bodies, much like the fire that had consumed the Lars homestead after he had abducted Beru. His thoughts were much the same as they had been back then.

No one would live where she had lived, where they had made memories together.

He approved of her new home, of the new style as the building manager let him in. A twist of the Force had the old man forgetting the entire encounter, leaving him to explore her personal items. She wasn't home, of course, the Senate still in session for the day. It was as he had planned. He needed the time to go through her things, to learn if she had changed at all in the time they were apart. To learn how much effort it would take to change her back if that was the case.

A frown creased his forehead as he realized nothing remained of her previous home, of their previous time together. Not even her clothing. Nothing he recognized, nothing he had touched. As if she had tried to wipe every trace of him from her life. She would pay for that. He would punish her for the brazenness of her actions; taste her screams again and again and again. And if she had truly forgotten him, if it had been a mistake to come here again…

When he found the hidden room and the treasure contained within it, he learned the truth of all his mistakes. He stared at the shrine to their affair, touched to his core that she had kept it.

The ache in his chest finally eased.

Because he knew, more than ever, that he should not have left her behind.

And this time, he would not make that mistake again.

The bed had a new mattress, new sheets. But the hooks remained, the pillows the same. Her scent clung to the material, fresh as if she had slept there just hours ago. Did she sleep there every night, he wondered, waiting for him? Remembering him? His eyes closed, his tongue darting over his lips, remembering hers. Soon, he told himself. She would be home soon, and he would have the woman that should have been at his side the entire time. The woman that should have mothered his son.

The woman that challenged him in every way, with every breath and bat of an eye, with every word and deed and thought.

She had challenged him—_no, damn well __**dared**__ him_—to strike at her planet with the installation of that whimsical defense grid. The gall of the woman, to so flaunt her planet's limited technology. As if the pitiful nuclear devices and explosive missiles would so much as scratch the paint of his warships. But she had dared. She had _DARED_! And he could not back away.

She would learn the truth of that that soon enough.

He lay back on the bed, ran his hand across the cold empty space that would soon hold her body, and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And this is yet another dark chapter. I don't think they all are going to be this dark. But then again, it's really hard to write a true sith love story without obession first and then eventually tapering off that obession into love. So once again, if you don't like dark stories, please do not read. If you do, thank you for reading and reviewing. :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Disney does. I do not own Metallica or the song "Outlaw Torn." Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Something was different.

The air tasted of it, like anticipation and dread rolled into one. Haunted her as she exited the Senate building, dodging lobbyists and reporters, attorneys and civilians alike. Platitudes and honeyed words left her lips, promises that were not truly promises, making appointments that both sides knew she would never keep. And those that would be swayed by her whispers were foisted over to her brigade of assistants and interns.

Extracting herself from the tangle was the work of mere moments. Extracting herself from the oppressive air? That wasn't something that would happen so easily. She glanced up at a clear sky, watching the blue of afternoon meld into the twilight of evening. Shadows grew longer in this time of the day, dancing frantic waltzes of the dying. Knowing that soon the sun would set, and without the barest hint of light, they would die.

She hated shadows for that very reason. Hated anything that depended on anything else for survival. Hated them like she hated him for leaving her. And shadows always reminded her of him.

The sun would have set by the time she made it home, banishing the shadows until dawn, giving her a small measure of peace. Or would have, if she could somehow remove the oppressiveness that swam in the air. There should have been heavy clouds in the sky, pregnant with insistent rain yet to be. The sky should not be so mockingly clear, not with the feelings that ghosted across her soul.

Urgency danced around her emotions like thrice damned shadows.

Need.

Home.

Must.

_Hurry!_

But why? She slowed the running of her steps, forcing her feet to take deliberate and stately steps. Something was amiss, off, not right. It nagged at her the entire drive to her building. And still her steps were slow, careful, and methodical as she walked into the private elevator, her shoulders tense to the point of snapping with the need to get inside her house. Her rosebud lips pulled down into a frown.

Her finger lifted. Touched the "stop" button. Froze the elevator between floors.

No. She would not hurry. Not until she knew the reason why. Her eyes closed, turning her thoughts inward, recalling the events of the day with crystal clarity. Playing them back in reverse. It was a technique she had taught herself in those long empty days at her family's lake house, when the sorrow and the rage had consumed all thought, when the fear of losing even a fraction of a memory of him had terrified her to near madness.

Her walk onto the elevator, the words she'd exchanged with the Edward the kindly old doorman. No, nothing wrong there. And then the limo ride from the Senate building, the phone calls she had made during that trip… No, it was all in order. There was nothing indicative of the rising panic in her chest, the way her heart beat in barely restrained eagerness. Nothing that accounted for the driving need to run into her apartment as fast as possible.

Nothing to account for this… this feeling of trepidation wrapped in near bliss.

And then she could place it, the one time she had experienced anything of its like. When his lips touched hers for the first time, her body pinned against that wall with his hands on her breasts. Hurting her. Exciting her. Trepidation that he would kill her when he had taken what he wanted. Bliss when he shoved her up onto the narrow table, shoved up _into_ her, her heels drumming against the drywall and leaving holes. Unable to do anything more than ride out the ecstasy he gave.

Pain. Pleasure. Dominance. Surrender. Neither of them truly knowing who felt which and who gave what.

Oh, to experience it again…

She sagged against the wall, a sob wrenching free of her lips. Stayed there frozen in her misery. Trapped between floors. Between memory and reality. Between the merciless need to hurry and the cautious desire to know why.

Her eyes opened slowly, momentarily startled by her reflection. Five years ago she had been tan, long curling chestnut hair flowing in soft waves to her waist. Flowing, linen pants and softly ruffled silken blouses had been her uniform of choice. Low heels and long delicate chains of thin gold, conservative use of make-up. It had been her look, her platform, to be feminine and strong. Steel beneath silk.

Now… she was pale, nearly white. She'd lost weight, become too skinny in the eyes of many. But the loss had made her face more angular than soft, made her eyes dominant more than her lips. Her hair was black as night, ironed straight and blunt cut at a sharp angle. Short in the back to cut a razor's line in an angle down to her chin. Her eyes were heavy with black eyeliner.

She looked… tough. Her black pants and midnight blue shirt tight yet still respectable. Hard knee-high black boots with sharp tall heels and a blazer of black wool that touched the tops of her knees. Heavy gold chain like a collar around her throat. Onyx stones at her ears. And beneath that jacket was specially crafted body armor.

Beneath her left arm nestled a custom holster and an equally custom glock .9mm.

The reflection was not that of a woman that would let herself be taken on a table.

The reflection was that of a woman that would do the taking. On a table. On a floor. It didn't matter. She was armed. She was dangerous.

She was pure steel.

And she was nearly to the reinforced steel-and-concrete of her home. There was no need to hurry. Casually, she pressed the elevator back into motion.

Still, her hands trembled as she keyed in security codes at the door, as the many keys fit into the industrial-strength locks. She had learned paranoia from him, too, had taken in his fanatical desire to remain safe in his bed and applied it to almost every aspect of her life. To the fact that the one man she had married had been a military officer, a Captain on his way to becoming an Admiral one day.

Even then, she would not fall into a deep sleep next to him. Even then, the gun rested in its modified holster on the headboard. Always in reach. Always ready for the day that he would return… and she would make him pay. That thought chased away the urgency, the near obsessive desire that came from nowhere to be locked within her home. To fling herself on that hidden bed and wrap herself in perfect memories.

The door opened silently at her gentle pressure. She stepped into the near perfect silence of her home.

Stepped into the knowledge that she wasn't alone.

He was back.

He was _back_!

HE WAS _**BACK**_!

The door closed with a slam behind her before she could run, closing as if of its own accord. Locks engaging at the prodding of invisible hands. Likewise, the security shutters began to lower themselves over the massive, endless window that served as her eastward facing wall. As if they had a mind of their own. Closing her in, locking her in darkness. Much like the day she had allowed herself to learn that he was gone, she didn't need to run to the other rooms to know that the concealed escape exists were secured against her. That he had somehow overridden her clearance codes and voiceprint identifications.

Somewhere in the vicinity of her bedroom, a soft light flickered to life. A single candle's flame. The CD player kicked in, the volume rising until she could pick out the words. Metallica's "Outlaw Torn" sang out of her expensive speakers…

_"Hear me_  
_And if close my mind in fear_  
_Please pry it open_  
_See me_  
_And if my face becomes sincere_  
_Beware_  
_Hold me_  
_And when I start to come undone_  
_Stitch me together_  
_Save me_  
_And when you see me strut_  
_Remind me of what left this outlaw torn."_

Her song for him. The song that had been playing when he'd had her brought to him the first time, hands bound behind her back. Blood on her lips from where the officer had slapped her repeatedly to still her protests at her treatment. Shoved down on her knees to kneel before the Lord Vader, kneel to her new Master. The song had haunted her ever since, and she had listened to it only in her darkest moments. Only when she needed to remember him. Only when she needed to become strong enough to forget.

And sometimes only because… only just because.

"Padme…"

His voice came from everywhere at once, a whisper that slithered up her spine, wrapped her body in its magnificent textures and sampled her trembling as clearly as she sampled its sound. Her knees went weak, hitting the Italian marble tile of her foyer, a burning beginning inside her loins, her eyes losing their focus. He was here. He had come back. Oh god, he had come back…

He had come back to her. For her. To take her. To dominate and surrender and pleasure and hurt. _Yes, oh, god, yes! Please—_

_NO! NEVER AGAIN! NEVER __**AGAIN!**_

Her fist hit the tile, pain blossoming to life, stealing the warm drowning pleasure that had slowly built in her body from just his voice. She clung to that pain, wrapped her mind in it. Searching for the anger his whispered words had chased away. It was clear now where that urgency had come from, the source of that feeling of wrongness. It was his supernatural pressure, his influence on her thoughts, his impatience to have her in his arms that had driven her to stupidly walk so far away from the door without knowing that her house was secure. Idiotic, she snarled at herself. So incredibly idiotic and weak-minded.

A spark of her anger returned and she held it tightly, forcing her eyes to really see what was in front of her.

He was walking towards her, his form invisible when her mind was wrapped in his power, in his voice, in the thoughts of what he was going to do to her later. It still had its effect, her lips trembling, her treacherous body one second away from crawling on hands and knees to him. But her arms were still under her command, if only because he loved the way she would fight him, the way she would swing her tiny fists at his muscled chest until he was in her, claiming total control. Loved the way her arms would fold around his neck like they had done that one and only time…

If that was the case, then he was going to surely _love_ what her arms were going to do next.

Her dark eyes glittered.

Her nearly broken hand moved.

The muzzle flash from the glock was practically blinding in the gloom of the singe candle's flame. The bullet rushing towards his face, aimed perfectly for his left eye.

And came to a frozen halt halfway between them. Hovering in mid-air. Quivering like the tears that drifted down her cheeks.

He smiled that darkly handsome smile. "You dare," he said softly, his tone a pleased contrast to the damning words. And he _was_ truly pleased that she had just tried to kill him, she knew. That her passion for him had not waned. Had merely transmuted into rage. And a deep seeded desire for revenge. "Oh, how I have missed you, Padme."

Her answer was a second shot, a second muzzle flash.

A lover's expression of lead and steel instead of word and voice.

A bullet not aimed for him, but for its twin hovering in the air.

She whipped her head to the side as the small explosion lit up the room, diving for the door, for the release lever that bypassed the locks and the hinges, that would have the door falling outward out of the frame. Knowing all the while that it was useless to run. That he would catch her. Always he had caught her. A gunpowder flash wasn't nearly enough to dissuade him from claiming what he thought was his.

But standing there and letting him claim her was worse. She would fight him. She would always fight him. And as his hands closed over her wrist bare millimeters from the release lever, she knew that this was what he wanted, too.

An old game, half remembered. With new rules.

Within moments he had her arms crossed over her heart, one hand pinning her wrists in place. Her back was slammed against his chest, his mouth hovering at her ear. Just as he had done the first time, just as he always did in the times after.

"That was unexpected," he whispered, lips trespassing over that delicate shell of flesh, grinding his voice into the deep recesses of her mind. "You always give me the most wonderful surprises."

There were no words for him. No answer she could give. A ghost come to life. A memory never truly forgotten.

The silence was answer enough. Permission of a sort. And she heard the tale-tell rip of fabric as he started to peel her from her clothing. The wool jacket fell loosely down her arms as she shook, as tiny sounds not meant to be words left her lips. His scent flooded her senses, taking her back five years ago, to the first time he had done this, to the last time he had done it. Every time between. His mouth closed on the nape of her neck, causing her to arch forward on her tiptoes, to expose the line of her spine to him and that delicious warmth of his mouth.

Always it was what he wanted. Until what he wanted became what she wanted. And that was when the true passion between them flared.

But it couldn't be like last time. She couldn't let him do this to her again, to wrap her heart and mind within him only to be abandoned, robbed of what little self-worth she had managed to gather in the wake of his departure. It would destroy her, rip out her heart as certainly as if he had done it physically. She couldn't go back to that. Wouldn't go back to that.

NEVER AGAIN NEVER AGAIN NEVERAGAINNEVERAGAINNONONONO **_NO_!**

"NO!" she shouted when those masterful fingers started to shred her shirt. "NO!"

That free hand closed over her throat, wrenching her head back against his shoulder. "No?" he echoed, faintly mocking. "Tell me we do not have to start at the beginning, Padme. Tell me you haven't forgotten all the things I have taught you. I would be most… displeased."

Liar! She could feel the eagerness in him, the slight vibrating of his body in anticipation of breaking her to his touch anew. He wanted this as badly as she did. Wanted the pleasure and frustration and pain, craved it like oxygen. Like food and water and all other life-sustaining sustenance. And she knew then, in that frightening heartbeat, that he had suffered as she had in their absence. That he had met with failure and frustration in trying to replace her, as she had trying to replace him.

She needed him. He needed her.

It was the plan, sad, simple truth.

It was the plan, glorious, awe-inspiring, truth!

It was perfection.

The shirt ripped from her back with a flick of his power, his hands on her wrists and throat as the torn fabric wrapped itself around her hands, binding her as only he could. And then she was tossed over his shoulder, her bound hands slamming against his back without success. Legs kicking. Mouth screaming protests they both knew she didn't mean.

An old game. Fully remembered. With no rules.

He tossed her onto their bed face down, fastened her hands to the hook. Ripped the sheets until he had enough length to bind her feet. Stretched her legs wide, each foot tied to corner of the foot board. There were two hooks there now, she noticed. One old and well loved. The other shinny and newly installed.

Her pants shredded themselves next, the body armor curling like burning paper instead of the Kevlar that it was. That, too, flung itself from her like ashes in the wind until she was nude. Helpless. Struggling. Soft cries of equal fright and rapture pulled from her lips.

He took his time undressing, hanging his robes upon a hangar removed from her own closet. "You will be punished," he said conversationally. "You changed everything. And some things I do not approve."

"I changed nothing," she spit back hotly. "_You_ changed everything."

"Did I?" his hand caressed her short straight locks, fingernails scraping along her scalp. "I don't recall issuing orders to cut your hair, to move to this place."

"You did it when you left me. This is your doing. All of it is you, for you!"

He laughed, the sound falling around her like broken glass. Cutting so sharp, so deep, numbing and exhilarating. Until she writhed, tried to free herself. But his bindings were nothing short of perfection, too, and all she could manage was to shake her head back and forth. Trapped. Vulnerable. Defenseless. His hand sliding down her spine as he continued to chuckle, rubbing across her bare bottom, amused at her continued denial of what was about to happen.

It was enough that she almost orgasmed from it.

The laugh cut off abruptly, catching in his throat. His eyes narrowed, filling with yellow fire. He'd caught that thought, she realized, that moment of sheer pleasure to be bound by him again. To struggle against his power and never surrender even as it consumed her.

"You are to be punished, Padme," he said darkly, hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back cruelly. "Despite your devotion to me for all these years, you have still displeased me. You are not to take pleasure in this. Tonight is not about you. Tonight is about me, and what I want."

The gag fit around her mouth, a small bite-guard wedging between her teeth. The leather bit into her cheeks as he fastened it behind her head.

And still, it was her turn to laugh behind the gag. To rejoice in his hot words. Finally, she felt like she could breathe. Finally feeling alive again for the first time in years, for the first time since he'd left. It was like waking up from a long, deep sleep, from years of a waking nightmare. Even if he left her like this for days and never touched her, it would still be wonderful. It would be everything.

Perfection.

The first searing invisible lash hit her bottom, and the laugh became a muted cry. Again the lash hit her. And again. And again. And again. He stood by the side of the bed, yellow eyes burning brighter with each scream, hand sliding over her hair. Petting tenderly. Lips brushing over her forehead with the same gentleness. Tears fell, agony washing over her, droplets of blood staining the sheets as the skin broke under the unrelenting assault. He was ruthless, whipping her until her cries merged into one continuous single call of torture.

Never enough to permanently harm. But close. So very, very close.

He acquiesced only when he felt her thoughts start to fade, when she was near to passing out from the pain. "No," he whispered, slipping onto the bed, hand sliding up her thighs to cup her raw rear, eliciting a new scream from her lips. "You will not find relief tonight, not until I am satisfied. Not even unconsciousness will save you."

He took her from behind, crashing into her as he had that last precious night before he left. And he was right, as always. The raw skin of her behind was too tender, too painful to bear the slapping of his groin. She could not find a rhythm in that pain, could not find a release. Even when he loosed her bonds, flipping over onto his back so she could ride him, there was no way to counter the agony. His hands locked on her hips, forcing the movements he wanted from her, movements that tore her skin every second she found herself approaching climax.

He denied her.

He found his pleasure countless times in the hours of their joining.

But she was not permitted to find hers.

It was horrific. It was exhilarating. The denial was a pleasure all of its own.

And to his aggravation, his ultimate frustration, the moment he bound her feet and hands and lay down beside her to sleep, the moment she truly understood that he was back, that he wasn't going to leave her this time, she came. Nothing he could do to her would stifle the sweet, beautiful scream of her climax.

It was an old game. With new rules.

And this time, she had won.

* * *

He stared at her sleeping form, a look of sheer wonderment in his eyes. Stretched out painfully with her hands above her head, her legs sharply pointed downward, her tortured bottom pressed hard into the sheets. It was not a comfortable position, and many a woman had died from sleep deprivation at his hands because of it. But not his Padme. No, her face was reposed, at peace, beautifully suffering at his request. She was everything he'd ever wanted, and never knew was missing from his life.

He would take her with him this time. Keep her ever at his side. On every mission. On every ship. His Padme.

The years between them had changed much, he reflected. Her eyes were harder now, her body muscular instead of soft, womanly still, but with a warrior's steely grace. Physical training, no doubt. Working with the weapon she had tried to kill him with, working with self-defense training most likely, to build that fighter's physique. His own form was different, changed. More muscular, more scars to his flesh than before. And yes, his eyes had an extra layer of ice to them to mark his experiences.

Not all of the changes she had made had pleased him, true, but all were beautiful because they were hers.

She loved him, truly and deeply loved him. All of him. His violence and his passion, his tenderness and his ruthlessness. He could feel it in her mind, in the utter contentment that layered over her discomfort. Pleased. Happy to be at his side, in his bed, enduring his trials. He loved her, too, with every ounce of that emotion he could possess. Loved her with a sickening brightness that banked his anger to a simmer in her presence, and flared it to new levels when she was gone. He had suffered in her absence, suffered as she had. Yearned for her touch and her cries and her lips. Yearned for the balance she represented. And even her words of advice.

Something he would have never accepted from Beru. He led in that relationship and she followed.

But Padme would never be led. She would be drug kicking and screaming, bound and beaten bloody, but she would never be led. And he would always, always know what was on her mind, what she thought of situations. Regardless of his desire to hear her opinions. Padme challenged, made him fight for the lead and battle constantly to maintain it. She made him struggle to be more simply because she would not settle for less in herself. So she would not settle for less in him.

Delicately, carefully, he reached out to a part of the Force he hadn't accessed in decades. A light soft sigh escaped her lips as he applied the healing arts to her limbs, to her buttocks, and her hand, her face where the gag had left red cutting lines in her cheeks, curing the harm he had caused. Rewarding her for enduring it, apologizing for his selfishness. Apologizing for his fear.

When she had screamed that word at him, when she had told him no…

A terror unlike anything he had ever experienced ripped through his heart in that moment. Anyone else would have died on the spot for uttering such a word, choking on their brazen denial. Instead, he'd frozen, his anger melting away in shock. He'd lost his grip on the Force, had become simply a man in danger of losing the one thing he truly loved.

If she had meant that word… if she had truly denied him…

Yes, he would have killed her then and there. But he would have never taken her against her will, not his Padme. He had to have her willingly. She had to submit in her strange way that somehow managed to never surrender, or their joining would have been like all the others in his past. So yes, he would have killed her. And yes, he would have killed himself in the process. He would have lit that entire building on fire and burned with her. Died with her. Cried with her. His Padme… his own.

But that was not their fate, he amended firmly. She had given in, given over to his wishes. And in the morning, he would make it up to her. Praise her. The galaxy was his, after all, and he knew that if he gave it to her on a chain, she would use it. She, this Senator with her clever mind, would help him forge his Empire into something lasting. Something permanent. And with her body, she would bring him peace.

Together, they would find his son. They would bring Obi-Wan to his knees. They would have more children. A daughter. Yes, he wanted a daughter. One with her hair and his eyes. One with her fire and his powers. A daughter… Leia, he decided. They would name her Leia. To match his son, Luke.

The desire to wake her, to tell her of his plans, was nearly overwhelming. But she needed sleep, and so did he. Tomorrow was a day of revelations, for her… for him. He could feel it. Lying on his back next to her, he called upon his powers. The carbon components of that metal vest she had worn floated up before, along with her primitive gun and its ammunition. He smashed them together in silence, these items of death and war, compressing them under the full strength of the Force.

Crushing the pieces until all the impurities were removed and a single perfect diamond floated in the air above him. Trapped within its heart was single drop of red. His blood and hers mingled together. Immortalized.

Another thought had her jewelry box floating to him for the precious metals to form the band. The ring slid easily onto her left hand, the stone nearly larger than her finger joint. Good. A prominent unforgettable sign of who she belonged to now and forever. His smile was so wide, so radiant, his laugh barely contained as he curled himself around her stretched body, resting his head against her breasts.

And slept.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you again for those that have stuck with this story in all its dark goodness. :) The reviews and private messages help to make this story better. Again, this chapter is dark, but not as intense as the last few. I can't stress enough that if you don't like dark stories, please do not read. But if you do, welcome to the ride.

Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

It was not the sunlight that woke her this time. It was the absence of it, the absence of pain. And the knowledge that both missing sensations meant something absolutely, utterly horrible. She lay on the bed, her eyes closed, body curled around herself like a child. It had been a dream, she mourned. His return. Their struggle. His final victory and the searing beautiful pain he'd chosen to inflict on her as his reward. All a dream, a heartbreaking, disturbingly realistic dream.

But, oh, it had felt so _real_.

So much so that she huddled in on herself, snuggled into the blankets, and forced herself to remember it in exacting detail. Filing it away with all the other dreams of him. Trying to find the courage to open her eyes and face yet another day with his absence. It would be a long while until such bravery built up in her system. An ocean of tears drifting slowly down her cheeks. If it had been real, she would have woken to extreme pain, to bound limbs long gone numb from the forced position.

What she felt was good. Whole. Rested.

The opposite of every one of their previous encounters.

It had to have been a dream, one borderlining on madness from the realism of it.

It was the pillow that changed her mind, the simple rectangle of stuffed fabric that she knew as well as her own body. It was farther away from her than when she normally slept with it. Always in reach, just in case the nightmares of loss returned. Just in case she had needed to pull it into his arms and pretend to smell the aroma that was simply him. It was on the far side of the bed now, out of arm's reach and half-cocked at an angle, like he preferred when he used it.

That object opened her eyes wide, had her shooting up straight in the bed. His pillow. And when she brought it to her nose with trembling hands, it was his scent that clung to it anew. As if he'd pressed his head to it not hours ago.

No, it couldn't be…

He wasn't …

…was he?

Her eyes darted to the foot of the bed, and the soundless cry that parted her lips was a thing of magnificence. A second hook in the footboard, identical to the first. Fragments of cloth hanging to it that bore minute scarlet traces where it had bit into her ankles, nearly cutting off circulation. A quick glance down at her unblemished, unmarred legs had her backing up into the headboard, scrambling.

Until the sheets tangled in the ring on her finger. The ring on her left ring finger. Her eyes flashed there next, found the huge diamond, the mixed metal of its band. The perfect cut, princess cut as she preferred. And the heart of red flame that was frozen in its center.

Oh god, he _was_ back. Only he would provide such a gift to her. It hadn't been a dream. But then where was the pain, the agony of her beating, of his rough use of her body? It made no sense! Unless she had finally gone insane, that her yearning for him had at long last manifested in delusions. That she had somehow tied herself to that bed, installed the hook, put on the ring. It was plausible. She had studied enough cases of sadistic insanity to know that such imaginings were common in a torture victim.

What he had done to her in the beginning of their relationship had been pure torture. It didn't matter that she learned to live with it, then learned to love it. Then learned to love him. They had a name for that kind of insanity, too.

Stockholm Syndrome.

She pressed her face in her hands, breathing heavily. Willed her body to stop shaking, her heart to stop its racing. Her eyes to hold back tears that threatened to fall. She would not cry over him anymore. She would not think of him, either. Not if it meant she was losing her mind, that she could lose everything because of her obsession with a man that was never coming back.

She rose then, wrapped in her denials, her hated reality. Her eyes glancing back at the pillow, willing her nostrils not to pick up his scent. It was all a projection of her sickness, she decided. All in her head. A cold shower was in order. Then coffee. And her office. Where she could lose herself in hours of paperwork.

Mindless.

Forgetting him.

Forgetting everything.

The bathtub was full when she walked into the bathroom from the hidden shrine to their sordid affair. Steam rose in fragrant curls, a scent of muted spices and soft woody notes drifting on the air. Bubbles thickly layered over the water. Next to it stood a dozen black roses. A gold-dipped rose in the center of the display. A sheer black robe of the thinnest finest gossamer silk lay upon her vanity.

And a platinum choker, beset with a single large black diamond, rested next to matching bracelets and earrings, the stones on each bigger than the first joint of her thumb.

All were his favorite colors. His favorite things. Things he had often taunted her with, said that she would wear for him one day if she was fortunate enough to come with him. Her hand rose to her throat, to her mouth. Her heart galloping anew in her chest. Had she gone that mad already? How had she commissioned the creation of such things without realizing it?

She turned. Ran. Determined to leave that scene behind. Determined to find the phone in her jacket pocket, to call for a psychiatrist at once. To call her ex-husband and have him take care of her. He still loved her, though he had married her exact opposite. But he was still a good man, and if she had dire need, he would be at her side in a hot minute. She just had to call him, to have him walk her through the events of the previous night.

Then it would all make sense. Yes. She just had to call him.

The scent of waffles filled the air seconds before she burst through the double doors of the master bedroom. Her feet skidded to a halt on the expensive tiles, knees colliding with the floor. Her heart stopped. Her eyes so wide that she couldn't see. Couldn't focus.

But the reality was there.

A golden protocol droid stood in her kitchen. Another droid shaped like an oblong ball hovered in the air above her stove. Making waffles. Her favorite pecan waffles. With homemade whipped cream instead of syrup. The protocol droid was dictating something to a tiny square droid on wheels at its feet, simultaneously making her freshly squeezed white grape juice to go with her waffles. Yet another hovering droid floated silently passed her, carrying a tray in two spindly arms.

A tray that carried toast, black coffee, and fresh fruit with some sort of creamy dipping sauce.

His favored breakfast.

And the man, himself, sat reclining in one of her overstuffed leather chairs, wrapped in a simple black robe that was open at the chest and tied with a black leather belt. Clipped to that belt was his lightsaber. He never acknowledged the droid as he picked up his coffee, sipping at it as he stared at the massive television screen. He had the screen itself divided into twelve windows, the volume muted.

Watching the twelve worldwide major news networks.

"I'm going to get used to you kneeling every time I walk into a room," he said smugly, smiling, not bothering to look up from his news channels. "I'll allow it when we are in private, my Padme, but in public you will knee before no one. No, you save those gifts for me. Am I understood?"

She closed her eyes, pressed fingers to her face, and screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Until she had no voice. Until she had forgotten what possessed her to scream at all. Hadn't she wanted this, wanted him back with a passion that defied expression? But at the same time, hadn't she feared this exact moment, feared her reaction at seeing him again? At feeling his lips form her name and send it ghosting across the air to her ears, to her heart and her soul…

Was this not the very definition of sanity?

He never responded to it, to her wail. Those yellow eyes focused on the news media display. That smile wide and beautiful and horrible all at once.

And all around her, droids moved. Cooking. Cleaning. Sending messages. Rearranging her apartment to his desires.

She had to climb to her feet on her own, and it took several tries. "Why?" she asked roughly, throat aching from the screams. _Why did you heal me?_

He shrugged by way of response, finally deigning to glance in her direction. "Why not? Normally I would have left you to linger in your punishment. You know that as well as I," he winked slowly at her, a flirtatious gesture, and one that would have been sweet coming from anyone else. "But today, today I need you with me. I need you to focus, my Padme. I need that more than I need your suffering for my pleasure."

He seemed to notice for the first time that she was naked and dry and unadorned. A frown pulled at those expressive lips. "Was the bath too hot, my love? Did my gifts not please you?"

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His _love_? He loved her? She remembered thinking as much the night before. But the shock of thinking she had hallucinated the whole thing, that she had gone mad with wanting of him, had clouded over the joy of that knowledge.

His hand touched her cheek, and she jerked back in surprise. She had not heard him move, seen him approach. Just suddenly he was there, his hands pulling her gently into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. "You're afraid," he whispered into her hair. "It's okay to be afraid at first. Soon you will learn that there is nothing to fear. I have come back for you. You'll be my wife and I'll give you everything."

Her eyes opened, staring at the ring on her left hand where it fisted into the lapel of his robe. "Wife…" she echoed numbly. _I'm insane. This IS all a hallucination. He's finally taken everything from me, including my sanity. I'm lost. I'm lost. I'm lost…_

He pulled back, taking her face in his hands, kissing her gently, completely, thoroughly. "You are not insane, my lovely one," he whispered, reading her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud. "You are safe finally. My Empire has come for you."

He lifted her off her feet, carrying her back into the master suite, setting her into the tub and all its hot soapy water. His robe was shed before she could sit upright, and he climbed in with her. The tub was big enough. It was large enough to hold four more people if they'd wanted.

It was perfect for his purposes.

"I want a daughter," he said as he slid up her body, capturing her mouth in another consuming kiss. "Concentrate on that, my Padme. Give me what I want. Give me a daughter and I will give you the galaxy."

His hands slipped to her hips. He gently pushed into her. Her head went back of its own accord, mouth letting loose a soft cry, arms wrapping around his neck. "I hate you," she sobbed as he started to move. "I love you."

"I wouldn't have you any other way, my love. I never should have left you. I never will again."

The water and the thick bubbles muffled the sounds of their bodies coming together. In contrast, the tile walls and floors somehow amplifying their heavy breathing, their quiet cries. He let her climax this time, brought her tendering through the experience several times, her arms permitted to wrap around him, her nails tracing the faint scar lines that she had given him the last time they were together.

It touched her deeply that he had kept them. Her scars. Her marks. Her claims to his body.

"I want to give you a ring," she gasped, the words barely intelligible. Shocking her with their sincerity. She did want to give him a ring, wanted the universe to know that he belonged to her now, just as she belonged to him.

"Then a ring I shall have," he growled through the building pleasure. "But first, I will have you. Give yourself to me, Padme. Say it. Say it now."

"Yours!" she screamed as the climax took her. "I give myself to you!"

He cried out shortly thereafter, and if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn there was a word in his bellow. And that word had been _yours_.

* * *

He washed her, himself, ran the shampoo through her hair. Cleansed her body many times over with the fragrance he preferred. Clean scents for his Padme, faint florals and green tea, soft whispers of sandalwoods. All things good and pure that he had associated with her. Her head rested on his shoulder as he ministered to her body, loving her with a tenderness that surprised him.

Later, he would have to punish her again. He could not let her settle into complacency, into believing she had nothing to fear from him. She had even more to fear now, whether she knew it or not. Because his love was not gentle, not kind. Not something so easily brushed aside like the simpering petals of a weak flower, fading like the seasons. No, his love was sharp, cutting. Steel edged like the finest blade. Enduring and permanent once given. Never dulling.

And because of that, he still loved Beru in his own way. Nothing would ever chip away that place in his heart occupied by the mother of his son. But he could let her memory go at last, now that he had found someone to take her place. She was his past.

Padme was his future.

Again, he dried her, himself. Laughing softly at the stunned expression on her face. She still believed herself mad, he realized. That his presence in her life again was the byproduct of insanity. He would have to cure her of that before too long, but for the moment he could find the joy in it, the love. Her devotion to him so strong that it broke her own mind.

Her second greatest gift to him.

He took her again on the tile floor just for that reason. Honoring her loyalty with his pleasure. Less tender this time, of course, but no less passionate. When they climaxed in unison, he called out her name.

Back into the bath they went, both bathed anew at his hands and dried in the same fashion. The robe slid with aching perfection across her shoulders, opaque so that the clean lovely lines of her body were visible to him, but dark enough to conceal the most tantalizing parts. The platinum collar fit skin tight to her throat, the matching bracelets closing over her wrists. And as he belted the sash of her robe tight to her waist, he sighed in contentment.

Beru never would have worn anything so provocative, even in private. Huddling like a virgin new to a harem, like a slave girl newly broken to the collar. On Padme, the outfit wasn't slavish. It was powerful. And she wore it, rather than the other way around, made the garments into statements of station.

Worship her body, it said. See the power of her freedom.

He carried her to the living room, settled her onto his lap, and returned to watching the garbage this planet dared to call a news broadcast. Their breakfast was brought to them, and he fed her little bites of the waffles and the whipped cream, tending to her as the shock began to fade. As she began to accept the fact that this wasn't a dream, wasn't an insanity-driven hallucination.

That this was real.

He waited for that reality to sink into her mind.

She didn't disappoint.

* * *

"What have you done?" she whispered, pushing her head from his shoulder, batting away the hand that caressed her hair absently.

Her focus zeroed in on the television with ferocious intensity, seeing for the first time the events of the day. Hearing his words echoing back at her as if from a bad dream. _You are safe finally. My Empire has come for you._

White armored men marched on every news channel, on every capital of every first world country. England, France, Spain, Japan, China, India…with special attention focused on the countries of the Middle East. Footage of TIE-fighters screamed over the heads of the world's citizens, disabling fighter planes and towing them away with tractor beams. Preserving the jets and the pilots alike. Satellite information, images from the Hubble telescope and from less powerful but no less accurate planetariums flooded the networks. Showed in distinct clarity the images of his Star Destroyers.

And in the center screen, larger than the others, was the image of stormtroopers marching on her Nation's capital. On the _Senate_ building!

Invading.

Conquering.

Taking over the world one nation at a time.

"What have you done?" she echoed again, this time louder than a whisper, her wide eyes turning on him accusingly.

He had the gall to shrug a shoulder, as if they were discussing items of no consequence. "I have done what you asked of me, no more and no less."

"I never asked this of you!"

Those eyes flashed yellow, pinning her with their power. "Didn't you? I am not an idiot, Padme. That Military Creation Act of yours was a direct challenge to my authority. Though my captains did find your defense grid quite whimsical and amusing. They took their time dismantling it, like kicking over a—what does your planet call them—ah, yes. Like kicking over an anthill just to see how the insects scurried and mounted a defense. Don't look so horrified, my love. I told them to take the planet intact."

She shook her head, disbelieving. He shrugged again, trying to pull her back into a reclining position against him. She resisted of course, outrage starting to work its way through the numb shock. His hand fisted into her hair, yanking her back into place regardless of her will. Holding her immobile with the Force until he felt her muscles relax, felt her relent and mold back against him like before.

_He leads_, she tried to make herself remember. _Always, he leads. Always his way_.

Just sometimes, more times than not, his way happened to be her way as well. So it worked.

Sometimes.

Not today.

"I'm doing this for you," he said, running his fingers through her hair once more, attempting to soothe the sobs that shook her body. "This planet will be my wedding gift to you. All yours. To rule as you see fit under the umbrella of my authority. There will be changes, of course. Certain things must be changed to make this planet fit in with Imperial doctrine. But I trust you will follow the guidelines."

"I don't want this," she murmured, flinching when that hand in her hair knotted again. But only for a second before it returned to its gentle caress.

"You may not want this now. But I know what's best for you. You'll want it later."

"Will I?"

He tiled his head, looking down at her. An eyebrow rose. "I suspect you will. Especially when you see who would hold this system instead of you. I believe you would not find Grand Moff Tarkin's vision statement for this sector particularly pleasant. He's a rather intolerant man, and his hatred of weakness is well known. Discipline is the order of the day for systems under his watchful eye. Those that do not measure up, simply cease to be."

He made a show of considering his options. "Or perhaps I should give it to Grand Admiral Thrawn instead. Let an alien lead your people, with his alien ideals. The Chiss, I hear, are an incredibly structured people. Do you know they have an absolute hatred for the adolescent years of life? They simply do not believe in them. So children grow up very quickly under their system of values. Do you want that for your people, Padme?"

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

And closed one final time. Her head bowed in acquiescence. Never in defeat, but in acceptance of his rule for a time. She would take his gift, protect her people. And one day make him pay for coming back. For taking her whole world instead of just her.

He laughed softly, wrapping her into a protective hug. "I love your resistance, my Padme. You are Sith in your heart, even if you don't understand that yet. But I'll show it to you. Once we are done subjugating this planet, I'll take you to others and show you the truth of yourself. As someone once showed me. Now quiet your tears and watch with me as a new order of peace and prosperity is born to your planet."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you are enjoying this dark, dark story. It's hard to write at times, so please be patient with me if this does not update as fast as my other Star Wars fics. Sometimes dark is just too dark. And speaking of that, my usual disclaimer applies. This is a dark love story, violent at times as someone so deep in the dark side tries to reconcile feeling love for another person. That oftentimes translates into ownership and stark issues relating. But at its core it is a love story, so there may just be redemption at the end. ;)

Hence, here's the warning. This is a dark, dark story. If that isn't your cup of tea, please do not read. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I making any money from this. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

It had taken less that forty-eight hours to subdue her world, and already the changes were visible. Though the most significant changes in her opinion were the ones unseen.

She stared down at the peaceful-seeming globe of her world, its atmosphere no longer cluttered with satellites. Those were the first targets in the war for domination of the planet, though her new husband called it 'pacification' rather than 'domination.' A twist of a word, she thought darkly, a political maneuver that sounded so much nicer than conquering. Pacification lent itself to the feeling that the people below were now agreeable to the conquest of their homes. As if they had earned something for themselves in a negotiation, that both sides were now happy with the outcome.

The unseen truth was that there was ever only one victor in any conflict.

And it was crystal clear that the Empire had won.

From where she stood high above on the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer _Executor_, her husband's personal flag ship, her world did indeed seem at peace. The only things to mar that appearance were the tiny dots of black and white that flew across the face of the planet. TIE-fighters and shuttles entered or left the atmosphere, carrying supplies down to the surface or hauling cargo back to the three Star Destroyers that floated in close orbit. They carried supplies to implement the changes that the Lord Vader deemed necessary for the future survival of Sol.

For it was no longer called "Earth." No, under the umbrella of the Empire, it was now called Sol.

Sol, for the name of the star that was central to its system, for the name she had whispered to her husband when he'd asked. Somehow the term Earth was no longer a proper name for a planet, at least not as far as her new husband was concerned. His wife would not come from a nameless planet, or from a world that bore a name worthy of mockery only. If she did not tell him the name of the star, of the sun that gave her world its warmth and light, he would simply make one up for it.

She was now Padme Skywalker, the High Lady Vader, of the planet Sol.

Did that make her a Solian? Solan? Solist? What would the galaxy at large call the people that came from her world? Did it even matter anymore?

Glancing back at the planet, at the ships flying across its sky, she didn't know what to think. No, that was incorrect. She knew exactly what to think, and those were thoughts she did not like. The shuttles always returned to the ships full of trinkets and people. Political prisoners that were in need of "special attention" to help them see the rightness of Imperial rule. Mostly former leaders of their countries, captured when they refused to bend knee to the Emperor. Though she knew there were others in those shuttles, too. People selected for various reasons, men and women forced to separate from their families and friends.

She shuttered, unwilling to think of what those prisoners would be used for, and if they were little more than trinkets, themselves.

It was no secret that the Empire employed slavery as a tactic to subdue rebellious worlds. Would it be any large leap of logic to learn that such tactics could easily be twisted into rewards? She glanced at the large diamond on her finger, and further downward to the immaculate gown of black silk slashed with scarlet with its long train and slender skirts. Was she not in a form of slavery herself, rewarded with pleasurable gifts for performing well?

Her hand strayed to the collar around her throat. Another of his gift to her.

Another mark to show where she belonged.

Were there young women on those shuttles, she thought in panic. Young women that had captured the eye of some officer or another, brought back to wear collars and warm beds?

"Something I can do for you, High Lady Vader?"

She turned, hand falling from her throat. Captain Piett stood before her, grey eyes thoughtful and—dare she say—a touch concerned at her obvious discomfort. Whether it was genuine concern for her, or concern for himself if even a rumor of her becoming upset on this ship ever reached the Lord Vader, she did not know. But there he stood, his back ramrod straight, his uniform crisp and perfect. Reminding her of her ex-husband, Greyson Montjoy, in a way.

Her heart stopped dead in her chest, eyes turning towards the viewport.

Good lord, was Greyson on one of those shuttles, destined for slavery? He would have never surrendered, not even when her words went out across all the news stations. Was Greyson's wife safe as well, and his daughter? Mentally she screamed at herself for being so thoughtless, for thinking of the whole mass of humanity and never stopping to think of the individuals. She should have sent men to protect them. She had access to over one hundred thousand officers through her new husband's authority. Why hadn't she seen to Greyson's safety?

Because he would have rejected it, she reminded herself. He would have rejected her and her offer, called her a coward and a traitor. He would have fought for his freedom.

Her hand floated to the collar again.

"No, thank you," she said before he could ask again. "I'm fine."

She watched his reflection in the viewport, saw his lips compressed slightly. "If I may be so bold as to suggest, High Lady Vader, that perhaps you should take some refreshment? The battle has been long and the fortification of this world will take even longer. You should see to your health."

_And the health of the child within me? _She finished silently for him. Every captain of Vader's personal fleet knew that the new Lady Vader carried a child within her. Vader himself had sensed the conception, knew the moment that life quickened within her. And the joy in him, the utter pride, was wondrous and frightening to behold. He was absolutely certain that their daughter now grew inside her belly.

A child conceived of passion and violence, upon a world in the midst of blood and battle. She would be lovely and terrifying, his Princess Leia. With her father's power and her mother's beauty. Padme's hand strayed to her stomach, remembering the morning of that conception.

Her lord husband had moved swiftly after their first breakfast together since those five lonely years of separation. And after she had finally accepted his dominion over her and her world, he began to tell her what he had in store for her world. Holographic plans were presented to her, showing where the new space ports would need to be installed. Where planetary shield generators would be placed. Where troop garrisons would be built, and training facilities where local law enforcement would learn the additional Imperial laws.

Where relocation camps would be centered until the resistance to Imperial rule was quelled.

They'd fought over that last bit. She would never allow prison camps in her world. Ever. Not even in the name of re-education. It sounded too much like brain-washing, like turning her people into mindless followers. She would never allow anything so much like Hitler to touch her world again.

She'd expected a beating, to be hurt and then taken in her pain, and then forced to sign her name to the orders that would bring such atrocities about. But he never struck her, and that had surprised her more than anything. He hadn't touched her, with his hand or with his power. He'd listened, argued back. Heated words flying between them across the holo-projector table.

But he'd listened. And in the end, she'd shown him the documentaries of World War II.

His rage had been a thing of beauty, the abject fury in his eyes at the thought of humans killing humans in that way. He'd sworn that would never happen again on her world, or on any world controlled by the Empire. Yes, the Empire approved of slavery of the lesser races. But genocide? It was out of the question. How could one rule if there was no one to rule over?

He had gone down on one knee, taking her hands in his and pressing them to his heart. Swearing upon the very beat of it that he would never allow those horrors to revisit her world again. Not by his hand, nor anyone else.

For the first time, _she_ came to _him_, rewarding him for his words and his promise. For understanding at least some of what drove her to work so hard in the Senate, to protect her home. It was she that shoved him backward onto the projection table, staring into those blazing dangerous yellow eyes. Pulling open his robe and her own until she could take him inside her.

She rode him, brought him.

Ruled him for that precious time.

And conceived their daughter.

He'd declared them married right then and there. They'd dressed in a hurry at his direction. And the shuttle brought them to his flagship.

The battle for control of Sol had begun mere moments afterward.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the image of her world. And nodded to the waiting Captain. He offered his arm like a perfect gentleman, escorting her towards the waiting turbolift. Officers came to sharp attention as she passed, pride in their eyes at their work, standing even straighter when her eyes touched upon them. Proud to be seen by the High Lady Vader. But did they have 'special requests' of the troopers down below on the planet, seeking slaves from her people? Dare she think that these men were honorable?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

The battle had taken nearly forty-eight hours. Nearly two days before all formal governments of the world surrendered. It created mixed feelings in Vader, that knowledge. These humans, this forgotten colony of the earliest off-shoot explorations of the original human species, fought with a ferocity that surprised him. It shouldn't have, he scolded himself. This planet had produced the love of his life, a woman with strength enough to survive even his worst fits of temper. A woman that would _willingly_ engage his temper simply because she wanted to, feeding his fires with her every glance and breath.

So it pleased him greatly that her people had fought so hard against his rule. He had even chuckled at the brazen smugness emanating from his wife as she watched Captain Piett frown and curse under his breath when what should have been simple and easily executed battles and plans went awry. This backwater planet with its lack of technology had managed to befuddle and confuse, and ultimately defeat at times, the most prominent minds of the Imperial Fleet. For only the best served in the Death Squadron, or so his personal fleet had been named.

Which in turn was the problem. These men were the best. And savages with projectile weapons and juvenile nuclear devices had put up a stronger resistance that most planets with their own defense fleets and planetary shields. Padme's people had forced his captains to take the fight down to the planet, face to face. Even taking out the satellite communication systems, leaving each country essentially blind and deaf to what was taking place above them, had only encouraged them to fight harder.

Granted, if he had let his captains have their way and bombed the planet into submission, it would have taken less than half a day to subdue it. But then there wouldn't have been anything left to rule. And he had promised this planet to his wife. His men would just have to be a little more creative.

In the end, they had, Vader reflected as he stood in Padme's apartment, gazing out at the now pacified streets below. The capital city of her birth country was now under his control. And rather than take over the seat of power for this nation, he had returned to his beloved's home. He liked to be near her things, to have her lingering presence with him since she could not be at his side. It was too dangerous now that she carried his Leia inside her. He had conquered enough worlds to know that pockets of resistance were still out there, and they would like nothing more than to kill his wife.

The coffee cup shattered in his hand, the snarl twisting his lips again. She had been so exquisite on the news broadcasts, reading the prepared statement the two of them had written together. Calling for surrender and explaining the wonderful things that would be given to them in exchange. Several nations had flocked to her words and the gifts of technology that she offered in his name. Those nations now stood stronger, their leaders not in custody but in their rightful place, learning the new Imperial doctrines. Cooperating with the military presence.

His reward to them was an expanding their territories as their rival nations and neighbors fell beneath his military might. Their nations paying the price for their leader's arrogance by being stripped of their names, their boarders merging with those that had been their enemies, ruled by those they hated. Those leaders that had flocked to Padme's banner were now High Governors of their increased territories.

And those that spoke out vehemently against his Padme? Those that had called her the Invader's Whore or worse? He had personally executed their leaders in a public spectacle of his power, any of their citizens that stood in his way were likewise disposed of. Man. Woman. Child. It mattered little to him. Anything that threatened his wife was immediately removed from existence. Many of those nations, now under new rulership, bowed to his wishes after that display. And they, too, were enriched by his gifts. Not as much as those that first agreed to his terms, but still rewarded for coming to their senses.

Still, he had to admire the fighting spirit of Padme's people. He made a mental note to speak with her about setting up a testing and recruitment center for the common citizen. If these warriors—be they fighter pilots or soldiers or even common citizens—fought this hard and this well without the benefit of Academy training, it may very well be that he had found an unlimited source of stormtrooper and TIE-pilot recruits. It did not matter their former nationality, nor what banner they original fought for before he'd brought peace to their world.

Already he'd ordered the pilots captured and brought to the ships, for interrogation and determination if they could be trained to fly TIEs. And not a few of the captured soldiers, too. General Veers would determine their usefulness.

"A world rich in resources," he murmured aloud, taking the replacement cup of coffee from the hovering kitchen droid. "The Emperor will be pleased with this conquest."

And in a matter of days, once the planetary shields were in place, he could go after Obi-wan again. With Padme at his side, this time. The thought chased away the rage, and he smiled as he sipped his coffee.

* * *

The warriors dressed in red followed her as she walked down the Exector's hallways, silent shadows of blood yet to be spilled. She disliked the color of their robing, and disliked even more the impersonal masks that hid their faces. She never knew if the same man was assigned to her each day, or if a different set of eyes peered at her each time from behind that red mask. It couldn't be helped, however, and her new husband would brook no argument concerning them. It was the Emperor's will that they wore red, and she would learn soon enough that the Emperor would not be denied or questioned.

Her lips twisted at that. While she had no desire to anger a man that her unimaginably powerful husband called _master_, she didn't agree with many of his views. Too many for her taste. But again, there was nothing she could do at this point. She would bide her time, gain her own power, and one day change the way this Empire ran.

Or destroy it.

What she saw in the next few minutes would make up her mind on that.

Her pace quickened as she headed down to the cargo bay areas, her soft slippered feet making barely a whisper on the smooth deck. Yet officers alike leapt out of her way or snapped to sharp attention as she passed. No one questioned her authority to be there. Apparently everyone had received the broadcast that Lord Vader had taken a wife. No one wanted to be the man that angered their Lord by disrespecting—or touching—his new bride.

She used that to her advantage, stepping into the first cargo hold. Her breath caught, tears coming to her eyes. But from relief or horror, she couldn't decide. People from her planet sat on the floor in neat rows as far as her eyes could see. All manner of nations were represented, many of them still in their military uniforms. Imperial officers moved among the neat rows, asking soft questions and cataloging answers in data pads before moving on.

But her people were unharmed, even treated for any wounds they had suffered during the pacification of her planet. Here and there she saw a man chewing on what looked like a protein bar, a small bottle of water sitting next to him on the deck.

Fed. Healed. Cared for. As her husband had promised.

And yet…

Something was wrong. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"High Lady Vader," a crisp, slightly accented voice asked as she appeared. The man in question had a hard face, cool eyes, and the aura of a man that did not want to be interrupted in his tasks. "We are honored by your presence. May I assist you in some way?"

"What is going on here?" she demanded, eyes sweeping the bay again. "And who are you?"

His mouth tightened perceptibly, his eyes drifting over the room as hers had. "I am General Maximillian Veers, my lady. And my men are in the process of assigning temporary quarters to the new recruits."

Her head snapped around, pinning him with a hard stare of her own. "New recruits? General, this is my planet. Who authorized this?"

He appeared almost taken aback by the question. "I was unaware that this planet was under quarantine, my lady. It is standard practice once a planet is brought into the protection of the Empire, that its military is tested for acceptance into our own. These men here have passed the first set of tests. They will be transported to Carida for further testing and acceptance into the Academy."

"And is it their expressed wish to go?"

Again, he blinked, pursing his lips. "Partially. They were put forward by their governors as suitable applicants. They followed their orders and reported to my men."

She felt her lips twist again. "It sounds like a tithe to me, a tithe of lives instead of money."

He had the nerve to shrug his shoulders. "Call it whatever you wish, High Lady. But this is the doctrine of the Empire. If these men do not wish to participate in Academy training, it will be evident soon enough. Those that do not hold themselves to the highest standards do not last long."

"And if they fail the standards?"

He pinned her with cold eyes. "If they survive whatever it is that they failed at, they will be sent back to their homeworld in disgrace."

The next two cargo holds were filled with the same, and each time she asked, she received similar answers to the ones given by General Veers. She was permitted—permitted!—by her guards to call one or two of the new "recruits" to her side, and she asked what questions she could. The men she spoke with gave her mixed replies ranging from being honored to serve their new 'territory and governor' to being almost eagerly excited to sail among the stars. Still others gave stoic responses peppered with the right words. Yet their eyes showed resignation.

She wilted a bit inside when she told those particular people to serve well and strong at the Academy, and return home alive and with honor. With General Veers warning echoing in her ears, it was all she could do to warn them.

Tears wanted to fall as she forced herself to visit every single hold, give the same encouraging speech to each man she interviewed. And she died a bit more each and every time her own people gave her resigned or withdrawn looks, while the Imperial officers that overheard her words seemed to grow stronger and taller, approving what they saw as compliments to the training they had already received.

In the last hold, she switched tactics and instead spoke with the commissioned Imperial officers that recorded the names of the new recruits. They answered simply, honestly, spoke of honor in serving. They truly believed in the Empire and what it represented, and wanted nothing more than to serve it with distinction and honor. There was no sign of duplicity in their answers, and there was a professional distance in their handling of the new men. Nothing cruel, but nothing kind.

Merely military men going about their duties.

It was hard to think of wanting to bring down such a government that supplied good men. And yet… and yet…

For reasons that she would never fully explain, she asked to see the list of people taken from her planet. Surely if the names of new recruits were being recorded, she'd have a complete record. She was shown into the deck officer's office, and the list brought up. Thousands of names sped past her eyes, reflecting men and their ages, their length of time in their chosen military branch.

And then it clicked.

All the names were male.

And she had seen women taken into those shuttles.

It didn't take her long to find the detention block. Nor did it take her long to make up her mind when she saw who filled it.

* * *

His anger was like a wet whip, slapping at her even before he entered their quarters. "You will explain yourself, Padme," he hissed.

She casually lowered the data pad in her hands, her own eyes blazing at they met his, her face impassive. "This is my planet," she hissed back, rising smoothly to her feet. "_You_ explain yourself to me. _You_ explain _this_."

She tossed the pad at his feet, or would have if his power hadn't snatched it in mid-air, bringing it deftly to his hands. He scanned the content without much interest, tossing it onto the nearby table. "I know whose names are on it. What does it matter?"

"SLAVES, Anakin!" she screeched, unable to control her temper. Divine in her righteous indignation. "You think I wouldn't notice? You gave me this planet to rule, and you think I would be so careless as to let your people crawl all over it and take what they want? I'm not a doormat for Imperial captains to step all over. And I won't rule like one."

He waved a hand dismissively, crossing into their bed chamber and beginning to strip from the day's robes. "They aren't slaves, Padme. Humans are not slaves to the Empire. We rule it above all other races. Those women were selected for—"

"For what, Anakin?" She interrupted, trying his patience. "Can you even begin to explain it to me in a way that won't make me hate you? They were selected because they meet a certain criteria. Young. Beautiful. Virgins. Between the ages of eighteen to twenty-two. Young enough to be molded into perfect little concubines!"

He moved in a flash, hands gripping her wrists and pulling her to him. "Yes," he said dangerously. "Yes, they fit our Emperor's desires. And yes, they will be taught sensual arts. But they aren't going to be made into slaves like you are thinking. They will be pampered, cherished. Those that do not attract the Emperor's fancy will be given as gifts to men that please the Emperor—as _wives_ to powerful men that will give them anything they desire."

"So long as they please?" she narrowed her eyes, acid dripping from her tone. "So long as they lie on their backs and do as they are told?"

"A small price to pay for the blessings they will be given."

"And what about what _they_ want?"

"Inconsequential," he replied simply. "They will serve the Empire as we all serve the Empire. Be thankful that they get to do so from the relative safety of the Imperial Palace. Besides, they will come to see things as the Emperor does in his ultimate wisdom. Just has you have come to see the rightness of my rule."

She struggled, tried to pull away from the iron of his grip. Failed. Snarled as he pulled her in closer, forcing her arms down to her sides and slightly behind her. A mocking imitation of a lover's embrace. But it served his purpose, brought those snarling lips closer to his, those flashing eyes filling his vision.

"You make them into whores, then," she hissed into his face. "Will they be fitted with collars like mine, too? Am I your whore, your gift from the Emperor for taking over my world?"

His eyes blazed, the Force rising around him. How dare she say such things to him, accuse him of that when he'd given her a ring, his name, his child in her womb!

"I would teach you to say such things to me, my wife," he hissed back, fingers digging into her wrists hard enough to leave bruises, to nearly crack her delicate bones. "Save for our baby growing inside you. No, I will not harm your body. But I will remember this. And when our Leia is born and you are recovered, you'll pay for this moment. For now, I will tell you that you are not a whore. You are my beloved wife. And if those girls you so worry over are lucky, they will be given to men like me. Men who want wives and children. Men who appreciate the peace and order of the Empire so they are free to love those wives and raise their children in security.

"Now," he closed his eyes, opened them again, regaining control as the force faded. "Enough of this talk of things that cannot—and _will not_—be changed. You are tired from your long day. And we have a longer one still tomorrow. They are going to begin constructing the planetary shield generators, and we will both be needed planet-side for the opening ceremony."

He pressed her down onto the bed, one hand letting go of her wrist, letting her fist pummel his shoulder as he slid her skirt up her legs, positioning himself. "You are my wife. And I will show you the difference between a wife and a whore."

His mouth claimed hers, swallowed her cries as he made love to her tenderly. Eventually her flailing fits turned into grasping hands on his shoulders, shouts of outrage melting into cries of passion. And when they slept this time, her hands were not bound. Her body was not stretched. She was entwined in his arms, as a wife should be.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello again! This story continues to be dark, and victories come at a steep price when a Sith Lord is the object of one's greatest desires. So once more my usual disclaimer applies: This is a very dark story with some triggers like kidnapping and bondage. Be warned. If these things bother you, please DO NOT READ. For those that understand that love can blossom in even the darkest of hearts, please enjoy and thanks for hanging on for the ride. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

She smiled at his side, as a wife should, during the ceremony that signaled the end of her way of life and the beginning of his. For that was what this was in her eyes, the final death blow to the planet she had so loved, and the rebirth of it in the image that the Emperor and the Empire felt was best. Around her, people cheered as her husband's words died away, his voice magnified not by microphone or speaker or any mechanical device from his side of the galaxy. It was amplified by his power.

By this thing called the Force.

His voice rolled like living thunder, booming across the crowd of thousands that had gathered to hear him speak, to exult in the great innovations that he brought to them. How adroit a speaker her husband was, how charismatic and wonderful and horrible at all once. He was literally spelling out the terms of their servitude—their bondage—and the people that she had once thought of as the enlightened mass of humanity covered their proverbial eyes with their hands and blindly gave over their ability to think for themselves to this beautify monster. All in exchange for the false promise of a liberation from the death sentence of remaining planet-bound.

He brought them the ability to travel among the stars, and all he asked in return was their undying loyalty to him. To do as he said, for such things were in their best interest.

Hadn't another monster said the same things in those few heart-stopping years before the outbreak of World War II? Hadn't her husband learned anything from what she had shown him of her planet's past? Glancing up at the man she both worshiped and reviled, she realized that he _had_. He'd learned a great deal from her tutelage of Earth's History, only it wasn't the lessons she had hoped he'd take away from the experience.

No, he had seen the flaws and mistakes in the plans of others for world domination. And he had studied those, picked them apart, formulated a new plan on the ashes of their old ones. One that would not fail. One that would keep her planet in the grips of despotism forever.

And how they cheered him, swallowed whole by the glittering promises that dripped from his lips, trading freedom for slavery. How she forced that smile to stay on her lips as liberty died to the song of thunderous applause. She hated it, hated him. Hated that the only thing they seemed to do well together was destroy and kill and break things that were never meant to be broken.

Like her planet.

Like her will.

Like her ability to leave.

Oh god, why couldn't she break away from him? Why did she have to love the very thing she had fought against all her life? And why, if there was any mercy in the universe, did she carry his daughter?

He had only to turn those glowing yellow eyes on her and she knew the sick, sad answer to all her questions. Her soul was lost, burned away with amber flames in his gaze. He had only to touch her and all thoughts of leaving him vanished as if they never were. For she could never leave him now, and that had nothing to do with his conquest of her world or the child growing within her. It had everything to do with how complete she felt as she blazed with anger, with lust. With the power that thrummed through her due to those baser emotions.

She wanted him dead for this, for what he had done to her world.

No, she wanted him alive and bleeding, chained and kneeing at her feet. _Begging._

No, she would be satisfied with just his kneeling, his begging for his life with her hands on his throat.

She changed her mind again. No, just kneeling and begging with her hands at his throat, her nails scratching bloody trails into his flesh. Hurting him, tormenting him, watching his powerful body shudder with barely contained lust. But he would stay kneeling, enduring her lashes and tortures. He would yield to her in private, let her command him. Because he loved her, loved the daughter she carried. Stars above, but she knew that to be true. He loved her as he had never loved anything in his life.

Loved her more than his power, more than his station as the right hand of the Emperor.

His hands would wrap around her waist, panting as those yellow dangerous eyes—wolf-like eyes—writhed with his fury and his delight that she could do this to him. And still she would not let up, forcing his lips to hers with a flex of her fingers, graciously bending down to deliver the slightest of kisses. Enough to have him roaring with rage and unquenched need as he fought for oxygen against her choking fingers. Enough to have his power lashing out, shattering their belongings because he could not contain it, could not stand the sweet torment she gave with a glance and the barest of caresses.

And she would laugh.

Softly.

Faintly mocking.

But always with utter adoration.

His hand cupped her chin, turning her face to his. And she noticed how hard he was breathing, for the first time noticed the new glow in those golden eyes. He'd heard her thoughts, her desires. Not that she had hidden them, she admonished herself. Gleefully, willingly, she'd cast her mind to the wind, conjured up her darker wishes in an effort to blot out the emotional destruction of her world. Feeling helpless as it happened, turning to thoughts of strength, the thoughts that had kept her warm in those five years she had suffered in his absence.

He'd heard her deepest thoughts, her darkest needs, and she would not back down now. Her own eyes lit with a fire uniquely hers, her breath steady where his was ragged. Ice to his living flame. No, she would not shy away from her own thoughts! Not for him, not for anyone. Not even for the promise of pain if those thoughts displeased him.

She was a former Senator.

She was the Governor of Sol.

She was the Lady Vader.

She was his _wife_.

And she would not be denied. Not from her world, nor from his body, nor from any other thing she wanted. He smiled that little boy smile, sending shockwaves of lust through her as he did so. But his eyes kept burning, kept the promise alive that he would see to her desires. Oh, he would see to them and to his own, and she would know pain and pleasure soon for the audacity of her imagination. But he would know the same, she swore it.

Let that knowledge fill her eyes, too.

He laughed, the sound nearly drown by the applause of his new subject, nearly swallowed as machinery far too advanced for anyone on her world to comprehend, began to erect the massive shield generators. His arms wove around her, bringing her lips to his, kissing her before the world that they had destroyed together, that they would rebuild together. And all around them, the helpless, naïve and foolish people that thought they received freedom under Imperial rule cheered all the louder for their favorite couple.

Cheering, for their Lord Vader and his Lady wife. Honored that he had chosen a woman from their world, cementing the citizens of Sol as sacred to the Empire if only for that reason alone.

She cried as she sank into that kiss, giving over to him. Tears that weren't quite sorrow and weren't quite triumph. For she was not as broken as she had assumed, and he was not as unbending as she had thought. And tonight, they would discover the truth of that in so many ways.

* * *

Their names were Sabe, Eirtae, Rabe, Yane, Sache, Fe, Dane, Dorme, Corde, Verse, Teckla, Motee, and Elle. And they were her handmaidens now. Selected from the "private stock" of the most beautiful of young women that her husband had gathered to take back to the Emperor. The thought made her stomach churn, and anger rose quickly on its heels. There had been so many, hundreds of girls from every nationality and country. Frightened and crying, locked into the detention cells of all places! Into black boxes with barely enough room to move about, with a metal shelf as a bed.

Garbed in thick grey robes with hoods that they were commanded to keep low over their faces. For no one could look upon the faces of those selected to please the Emperor, save for the Lord and Lady Vader, who would make a persona gift, a personal tithe, of these ladies to His Majesty.

She had wanted to strike the woman in charge of their captivity. Her name was Corsuvre, and she was in charge of the gentle task of "breaking" these new girls to their new lives. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, somewhere near the high end of middle age, but with enough loveliness to let everyone know she had been blindingly stunning in her youth.

Corsuvre had dared to tell Padme that these steps were necessary—necessary!—for the mental health of the "Selected." The sooner these girls accepted their new futures, the easier their days would become.

It was revoltingly horrific. Insulting. Cruel. And Padme made certain that Corsuvre knew it.

The first step in the "breaking" was isolation, to remove all traces of everything the girl in question had known or loved. Locked away in the grey robe that was scratchy and irritating, alone with only their thoughts. And every so often a data pad was presented to them, one that talked about the honor they would know in their new lives. It was the only thing that would break up the monotony of their solitude. But even that was denied them after a time. Taken away after only a few minutes.

Leaving them alone to the maddening boredom. So that when the pad was presented again, they would eagerly read its contents, if only to escape the hell they were living in. If they successfully answered questions based on the content of that data pad, they were given a sweet treat, or more time with the pad. Or more information to read on how wonderful the Empire was.

Brainwashing them.

So this was the new era of freedom and promise the Lord Vader delivered? She would claw out his eyes for this!

But for now, she could only save these thirteen, only go through the stock of girls and choose those that resembled her in looks, or those that had specific skills as a lady's maid or assistant. It was easy to make an excuse to take them, stating that she was the Lady Vader and would be a target for assassinations due to her husband's work for the Emperor. She would need bodyguards, body doubles, and assistants of all kinds.

It was all she could do for them now. But only for now, and the others would _not_ be forgotten.

* * *

His wife—his lovely, headstrong, wonderful wife—had disobeyed him yet again.

Part of him had to wonder if she enjoyed the pain he gave her, if that was the reason why she constantly flaunted the rules, threw in his face the fact that she could and would do as she pleased. Perhaps it was, at least in part. And that was fully his fault. He'd noticed the change in her, the shift in the patterns of her thoughts when he'd returned to her planet those scant three days ago. She was sharper, harder, more determined than ever before.

More in love with him that he had ever felt he had the right to experience.

Devoted to him, utterly and completely, as in love with him as he was with her. It frightened him with its intensity, was the main reason he had left her behind in the first place. Yes, he could admit that to himself now, now that she was fully his. She was the one thing in the known galaxy that had disturbed him so greatly that he had had to flee. All because she loved him for who he was, not what he was. She had chosen to be his wife not for his strength in the Force, as others had tried. She had chosen him not for his position with the Emperor.

She had chosen him because he was Anakin. Nothing more. Just Anakin Skywalker.

Just. For. Him.

Loving him with is imperfections and his perfections. His scars both inside and out. His anger and his pain and his joy and his delight. All of him. And yet…

…and yet she would do these things that defied him.

The man called the Lord Vader leaned against the smooth wall of his chambers, watching the thirteen women as they donned new robes of some strange shimmering fabric. They did not see him, cloaked as he was in the Force, their minds so easy to manipulate and trick into believing he was just another shadow gracing the corner of the room. Temptation rose in him, the fleeting thought to start to rearrange their minds as a punishment for his wife.

What would she do if her precious little group of girls suddenly decided that they wanted to go back to the grey robes of the Selected? He doubted very much that she would simply go back into the detention area and choose another thirteen. No, she would weep and wail, scream at him and blame their change of attitude rightfully on his shoulders. Maybe then she would realize that while he found her flagrant disregard amusing, the Emperor would not. And he would punish her in ways that she would never enjoy.

He winced as one of the girls spun around in her new robe, the colors of yellow and rose and orange jarring to his senses. These foolish little flowers would stand out in stark contrast while on any ship.

"I do not approve, my Padme."

The women froze. Or screamed. Or did both.

A few threw themselves at their new mistress, hiding behind Padme's chair.

The intelligent ones, the two that had obviously read far enough in their teaching literature, did the proper thing. They folded themselves instantly down to their knees, their palms pressed to the floor. Their foreheads touching the deck.

And they whimpered.

One even cried softly.

Those two he rewarded with a soft caress of their hair, a gentle smoothing with the Force to acknowledge that they had pleased him. That they understood their place as servants, as items of pleasure, their wills and bodies bent towards bringing a pleasant distraction when called upon. Perhaps it would not be so bad to put his Padme through the training to become a Selected. Only at his hand, of course. She would need to know her place before she attended the Imperial Court. For not even his strong connection to the Emperor would save his wife if she decided to defy His Majesty.

"I do not approve, my love, of turning my people in these 'Selected,'" she replied, rising smoothly to her feet. Imperious as any queen, as lovely as a dream brought to life. "Why have you frightened my handmaidens? Corde, Dorme, get up. You do not bow to him that way ever again."

"Stay," he said, the one word lancing through the room. The two stayed in their bow of supplication. "They understand their place."

And he smiled as four others detached themselves from the group huddled behind his wife, attempting to follow this Corde and this Dorme and pacify his anger. In unison the four cried out as whips of air slashed at their backsides, the same strength and power he had used on his wife that first night of their reunion. They howled in their pain, causing the others in the corner to cry out as well.

And he continued to punish them until they fell into the same position of supplication as the other two. Only then did the pain stop.

He beat the rest of them in the same fashion until they followed suit, the beatings longer and more painful for each wave of women that resisted the longest, a kneeling circle of thirteen around him and his wife. Padme stood there, tears streaming down her face, eyes blazing with pure hate. Powerless to stop any of it, to stop him.

He came to a stop before her, fingertips brushing away her tears, caressing her face. She was stiff beneath his touch, braced for the pain that he would give her. For surely if her so-called handmaidens were punished, would she not receive the worst of it?

Oh, that she would. Just not in the way she was anticipating.

His hand slipped beneath her chin, pulling her in for a tender kiss. Like the kiss she had envisioned giving him. And his hand slipped down to her pale delicate throat… gripped and squeezed. Again, as she had envisioned doing to him, as he would have let her if she had not defied him this one last time. Thusly her hopes of control would be used as her punishment.

She gasped, hands flying to his wrist.

"No," he said softly, gazing into her wide eyes. "You will submit this time, Padme. Of your own will, or I will do to the others what you will refuse to let me do to you."

He saw the fire in her burn hotter, passion and hatred, a cocktail that had him wanting to rip the clothing from her body and take her right then and there. But that would be what she wanted, wouldn't it? And she was to be punished, not pleasured. His hand squeezed tighter, her lips parting as her windpipe constricted under his grip, cutting off her oxygen.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he pressed downward, forcing her to her knees. The Force replaced the grip of his fingers so he would not have to bend himself double. Lower and lower he pressed, until her head was bowed to the deck like the others. A flick of his wrist had the Force wrapping around her wrists, forcing her palms flat to the deck. Kneeling before him like the others, a dramatic black petal in this sea of pastels.

"Look up, my flowers," he called, letting his Force grip on her throat relax, letting her draw breath again, but not letting her rise. "Look upon the perfection of your mistress. See, she is not immune to the laws of the Empire. She, too, will bow to the Emperor. Just as I bow to the Emperor. Just as you all will. See how lovely she is, your mistress. How perfect and pliant. You look to her for leadership and protection? Fine, she will give those things to you—at my discretion."

He turned about the room, meeting each of their eyes, their tear-stained faces. Reveling in the whimpers that left lips, the fresh tears that fell when they gazed at the kneeling Padme.

Let it all sink in.

"You belong to us now, handmaidens," he continued. "You will serve us. I will give you that gift and make a gift of you in return to my wife. She has chosen you, and it seems I cannot deny her what she wants. But you will learn your place. When you are in private, such as now, you will kneel just like so until you are called upon for a task. You will not speak unless invited to do so. When in public with my wife, you will protect her with your very lives. You will stand strong and proud at her back. You will perform your duties with perfection. If not… I will show you a hell that will make you beg for death. It is just that simple."

He spun back towards Dorme and Corde, watching them shiver as he caressed them again with the Force. "Dorme and Corde," he said, his tone gentle. "You two hold my favor above the others at the moment. Go now to the Detention block and ask Mistress Corsuvre for thirteen data pads containing the text _Joy of the Selected._ Bring them back here and distribute them to the rest of your fellow handmaidens. All of you tonight will read these texts and put them to memory. If my wife is to have attendants, they will be trained well."

He casually reached a hand out behind him, and his wife gasped anew as the Force pulled her upright, brought her hand into his. "My wife and I will retire for the night. Do not disturb us."

Padme, to her credit, kept her comportment as a perfect lady until the doors to their bedroom closed behind them. Then she received her true punishment. And he did not have to use the Force to hear the crying from outside the door as the handmaidens wept each time Padme screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've posted. This story is very dark, as I have said before in all my disclaimers. A true sith love story should have a lot of dark elements in them to mask the true feelings of love, as love is a Jedi virtue. The Sith have passion in most cases instead of love... and oh boy do Anakin and Padme have that in spades! ** So if a dark and twisted love story isn't your cup of tea, PLEASE DO NOT READ.** I cannot make this disclaimer enough after recieving a flame or five already about it.

For those of you that have PMed, reviewed, favorited and followed, thank you. :) This story is a dark delight even if it is difficult to write at times.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

There wasn't a mark on her, Padme thought in her delirium. He had been so careful, this monster that was her husband, this creature that had swallowed her heart and will whole. His torture of her had been of a different variety than the physical, refusing to do anything to her that may harm their daughter in the slightest. So much so that as she screamed in her punishment, he had laid his head gently on her stomach, his hand caressing her lower abdomen.

And he had sung in a soft and oddly melodic voice to the unborn child within her.

Leia, he had called her. Their daughter would be named Leia.

And if Padme, herself, learned to behave as she should, he would grant her the honor of choosing a middle name for his Princess Leia.

A tiny sob escaped her control, tears starting to fall down her cheeks anew. It was the first time he had truly punished her, had done something to her that she could find no pleasure within, no matter how she turned the situation over in her mind. Begging had done nothing, whimpering had only forced him to increase the punishment, to leave her bound longer. He wanted her to break this night, if only to acknowledge that some rules could not be bent without the cost of her life. He was not willing to pay that price, to lose her.

And if she had to be made to suffer to understand that, it was a small pain in comparison to the loss of her life. The Emperor's laws were absolute, unchangeable. Even to the wife of the great Lord Vader.

Even if the pain she felt was echoed in his eyes. In the tears that trailed down his cheeks as well.

And she was forced to admit that his tears had broken her worse than the treatment of her body and mind. Even now, as he lay in their bed in the darkness, she wanted nothing more than to crawl over to him and sob, to water his hair with her tears, to beg forgiveness through the salty droplets. But her punishment was not over, the recording that played in her ears reaching its conclusion, only to start anew.

She'd long ago given up thrashing her head back and forth, trying to dislodge the headphone-like devices that attached to her earlobes. They clung like a spider's web, unbelievably light and delicate and complete in their ability to cling to her flesh. Her heart sank in her chest, the tears flowing faster as the woman's voice—that damnable Corsuvre's voice!—began the lecture again. Detailing out how wonderful it was to be a Selected, what pleasures Padme would enjoy as being part of that elite group of women chosen to please the Emperor, himself.

This was his ultimate punishment for her. Showing her her fate if she continued to defy the Emperor, teaching her that she could yet be plucked from her lofty position and brought as low as a Selected if the Emperor so wished it.

Her hands were bound above her head, tied with strips of her gown to the column of their four-poster monstrosity he called their sleeping surface. Her ankles were similarly bound, tucked beneath her as she knelt on the corner of the mattress. But oh, how she hurt. Ached really. Limbs forced to maintain this pose of submission for hours, body naked and chilled from the recycled air of the Star Destroyer.

He'd purposely dialed down the temperature of their bed chamber just enough to leave her miserable but again not enough to cause her harm. And he let her watch as he slid beneath the amazingly soft and warm blankets on their bed, curling up to watch her as she writhed and screamed and begged and sobbed. Basking in her agony and his own until sleep finally claimed him.

The torment had been wicked, the utter putrid dreck of the recording meant to brainwash young women like a mantra of her personal rage. She screamed with all her might to try and drown out the words, bellowed at the top of her lungs with anger and outrage and…

… and with fear.

She was not a Selected! She was his wife! She would not submit to such treatments!

But oh, after the hours and hours of listening to the same recording, with her body too cold and uncomfortable to allow any form of sleep or relief, she almost wished she was a Selected. For a brief, heartbreaking moment, she truly did. After all, that horrible woman stated that all one had to do was follow this one simple step: divorce oneself of pride and attachment to anything of the former life. Only then could one be rewarded with gifts beyond measure.

And then it clicked. Just like that, she realized where she had gone wrong. Gone wrong in her life, in her handling of the enslavement of Earth, and in dealing with her husband. She could never divorce herself of pride. She was too well bred, too set in her own ways, to ever give into anything as degrading as that. Yet she _could_ divorce oneself of attachment to things that could no longer be.

Earth—no, it was Sol now—Sol would never be as it was again. But her people were still her people, and if it meant she had to remake herself into something new in order to protect them, then she would do it.

A different kind of scream rose up inside her, one born of whispers instead of shrieks. One born of understanding just what she was and what she was capable of doing. She was the wife of Anakin Skywalker, the Lord Vader. She would play the games their Emperor set for them.

And one day master them enough to throw his tyrannical ass off the throne.

Yes, the decision was made. She knew what kind of people were in this Empire. She knew what kind needed to stay, and ultimately what kind needed to go. She would have to thank Corsuvre for pointing this out to her, though she highly doubted this was the message that Corsuvre had intended to drive into the heads of Selected. Then again, Padme wasn't a Selected. She would never be a Selected. And she would state this fact into Corsuvre's face just before she had the woman executed.

In the darkness, she allowed herself to smile.

"Anakin," she whispered aloud, understanding at last the words and tone needed to reach him. "My love, wake up and untie me, please."

That one simple whisper cut through the darkness, wrenching him wide awake where her screams had literally fallen on deaf ears. He flowed across the bed like liquid night, so graceful and unearthly and utterly beautiful. His hands felt like fire on her cool skin, undoing the bindings slowly, allowing circulation to resume in her limbs gently rather than the painful rush of all at once.

Her arms wove around his neck as he pulled her body to straddle his, her forehead resting against his. "I am so sorry, my love," she whispered as he kissed the tears from her cheeks. "I should have realized sooner what it all meant. Please, forgive me."

His smile seemed to light up the darkness. "You do not know how happy you make me in this moment, my wife. The Emperor is not to be denied."

_Nor am I_, she thought wryly. "No," she said aloud, allowing him to make of that one word what he would. "I love you, and I will do everything in my power to ensure we have our happiness forever."

* * *

He did not like doing this. Pain without pleasure served little purpose in his world, and the fact that he was forced to inflict this on his wife in one of their rare nights together, did little to alter his opinion of it. But some things could not be helped, and some things must take their dark and useless course if he was to reach the pleasure he desired.

And so he bound his screaming wife to the foot of their bed and affixed the headphones to her ears.

And played the lecture entitled "The Honour of The Selected" for her punishment.

He took no pleasure in the shifting of her expressions as the words played into her ears. He knew well what was contained in that recording. Mostly he was ambivalent to the words, the role of the Selected beneath him and his notice. Women whose minds were easily twisted by light torture and moderate brainwashing were boring, and women who truly thought themselves honored to be bedded by whatever man the Emperor threw at them were less than beneath him. They were less than slaves. They were the worst kind of filth in the face of the galaxy.

His mother had been a slave—literally born into slavery and accepting of a slave's life, no less—and she had never stooped to peddling her flesh. _Never._ It mattered not if her masters ordered her to do such. She would take the days of punishment before sinking to the mere minutes or hours of letting whatever male put whatever part of him into her body for his pleasure.

Anakin had had many women in his past, both willing and against their will. But never had he stooped so low as to take a whore to his bed. Honor to his mother's memory forbid him that. He'd watched as a small child when she suffered the worst work of their masters because she refused to become a whore. It only strengthened his resolve to hate them.

Padme had reminded him of his mother's inner fire when they'd first met. Perhaps that was why he'd taken her that first time. Expected her to scream and fight the entire time. But she hadn't, at least not in the way of futile resistance. She'd met his stare directly, and no matter what he'd done, she'd found a way within herself to take pleasure in his body, too. They'd orgasmed together that first time. And he'd known then that he had found something all together rare and precious.

So when her look of cool defiance started to shift to horrified outrage at what she was hearing, he felt nothing but cold anger rise in his chest. His hands balled into fists beneath the blanket, nails cutting jagged half-moons into his palms, his blood dripping like the tears that flowed down her face. She was his wife! She was the Lady Vader! She should never be subjected to a whore's training, a whore's torture.

And yet he knew he couldn't stop it. It was the only way to reach her, to get through that pride and suborn strength that he loved so much. She must be made to understand that some things they could not undermine, the Emperor's will being chief among them. It was better that she learned now in the infancy of their marriage—at his own hand—rather than later on at the hand of the Emperor, himself.

For there would come a time when he could not take her with him on an assignment. She would have to stay behind on Imperial Center, living in the Imperial Palace with the Emperor and his chosen favorites. Most likely tending to little Luke and little Leia, and any other children they would have together. And if she dared defy the Emperor when he wasn't there to run interference? Well, he may not have a wife and family to return home to at that.

His hands contracted again, tears that he did not acknowledge falling down his face. No, he would not lose her. And if her agony now spared him the agony of her death, then it was worth the price.

He lay down to sleep when her screams started, letting the shrill noise lull him into uneasy sleep. These were screams he did not want to taste. These were the screams he never thought he would have to pull from her mouth. These were pain without the hope of pleasure, and they were useless in his eyes. So he closed them, and mired himself deep into the Dark Side in an attempt to find rest.

Her whisper of his name hours later brought him awake louder than any scream. Gentle, that whisper. Still filled with fire, still using his name like a whip, but this time with request and understanding behind it. And she had said the word 'please.' Respectfully. Carefully. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her. Shaking as his fear gave way to relief. She understood the lesson he intended to teach, he could hear it in her thoughts.

But the other thing he felt there, the desire to make over the universe to her will… that filled him with the greatest joy. Oh, she thought she was being clever, thought that she was doing it for all the right reasons. To liberate the galaxy from slavery and tyranny and usher in a new era of peace. He almost chuckled at the innocence there. She would make the best Empress at his side, and she would use the power he would give her, unlike Beru.

It was no secret that he hated his master as much as she did now, and that he wanted nothing more than to take the throne, himself. It was the way of all Sith, the apprentice one day becoming the Master.

But only when the time was right.

"When can we leave?" she whispered against his throat, as if reading his thoughts. "I want to move forward, my love. I want to meet your son. I want all our plans to happen."

He smiled wryly in the darkness. She meant she wanted all _her_ plans to happen. But it would be easy enough to make her plans fit in with his. One way or the other. "Soon," he murmured into her hair. "Very soon, my love. Within the week if we have no delays."

"I will see to it that there aren't," she said firmly, leaning up to kiss his lips. "This is my planet, after all."

_So it is_, he thought. _And what an Empress you will be when I give you the galaxy on a chain…_


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again for the private messages and reviews! This dark story continues on, though I hope at least this chapter wasn't so dark. As always, my usual disclaimers apply. This is a dark sith love story. It gets pretty brutal in places. If that isn't your particular like, then _**PLEASE DO NOT READ**_. Otherwise, thank you for coming along on this unconventional story. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing but any OCs I create. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

It was different this time, the way she felt as she stood on the bridge of the Superstar Destroyer _Executor_. Like before, she stood at the transparisteel viewports, gazing down at the sphere that was her homeworld, watching the black and white dots dipping in and out of the atmosphere that indicated Imperial activity. People were still being transported from the surface and likewise brought down from the ships, new recruits to add to General Veers list of possible Academy candidates and fully trained troopers and specialists and engineers that were now assigned the task of establishing a permanent garrison on Sol.

And in the distance, just coming into view as the _Executor_ finished its orbit of the planet, was the moon.

No, it was no longer called just the moon. It was now Caelum, named for the Latin word meaning "Sky." Named after Anakin Skywalker, after the Lord Vader as a tribute to the technology he'd brought a grateful Solian population.

Padme forced back the desire to roll her eyes. Tribute paid to their Lord and Lady, naming an object that had existed for millennia without needing a formal name. The thought riled her, rankled her nerves until her hands balled into fists beneath the long sleeves of her gown. Accolades enough had been heaped upon this Empire in the form of lives lost and lives stolen. The idiots of Sol did not need to name their moon after her husband.

And her husband certainly did not need to name the colony he had commissioned on its surface after her!

Her eyes tracked hotly to the surface of the moo—Caelum—and the massive activity visible upon its surface. Even at their distance, she could see that Padma Jocale was going to be a massive city when it was completed. The groundwork was being laid, the moon's materials harvested and mixed with the supplies brought from countless other worlds. It would have been easier, or so Admiral Piett had stated, to simply construct the foundation from established items already in stock upon the ships. However, Lord Vader wanted Padma Jocale to be made from as much material native to the Sol system as they could. It would be a pure place, a rich place, steeped heavily in the natural culture of the Solian people.

Solian culture… on a moon no longer bearing its proper name, with a city whose name meant "the lotus jewel" in badly mangled Latin.

Her teeth ground at the outright audacity of that. No Earthling had so much as lived on the moon for more than a week! And the city that her husband was constructing, as yet another wedding gift to her, would not resemble anything that her people would have wanted. How could they, when their own technology was not allowed to progress naturally on its own? How could it be a Earth colony when their own way of life wasn't ready for this?

The answers were just as simple as they were infuriating. All one had to do was really listen to the words that Lord Vader had spoken. This was a Solian colony. This was his gift to her. And before he had ever set foot in her world, she had not been Solian. She had been an Earthling. This grand city was nothing more than further brainwashing, further destruction of the values and systems of her people and replacing them with Imperial.

She turned her gaze from the nightmare that bared her name, kept her face smooth against the tirade of emotions she wanted desperately to unleash. Beside her, Corde and Dorme shifted from their silent stance, ready to leave or move at a moment's notice to tend to her every desire. And beyond them stood the two abhorred red-robed royal guards. And beyond them?

Captain Holt stood to her far left, also staring out at Caelum and the work in progress across its barren surface. In the past four days, she had come to know him at least to a marginal degree. He was family oriented, with a wife and two sons back home on Coruscant. He was from a wealthy family from the "core worlds," whatever in the Empire that meant. It lent some sort of prominence to him, judging by the flavoring of pride that touched his voice when he spoke of it. Perhaps the location of one's birth planet indicated social station? It was something she would have to investigate later.

Regardless, Captain Holt appeared to be a dedicated man, loyal to the Empire in much the same way General Veers was loyal. He had made it to the small list of individuals that she would deal with directly—easing Admiral Piett out of the role of her primary contact for all things fleet related. Her eyes returned to the viewport, not seeing the actions taking place on the moo—on Caelum, rather—but watching the before mentioned Admiral. He couldn't quite hide the slight annoyance on his face as he glanced at Captain Holt, or rather his proximity to her. Just as he wasn't able to hide his relief at the time when she had named Holt to her confidence. He had most likely assumed that she would run the other man ragged with silly requests and make his duty a living nightmare.

The tiny smile on her lips was full of bitter vindication. She had no idea how Anakin's former wife had behaved, but she was not some silly twit to decorate the Lord Vader's arm. She was a power all unto herself. And she would use it.

And those that pleased her, much like those that pleased her husband, would see rewards for their work.

Already rumor was spreading that Captain Holt might find himself as Moff Holt of the Sol system before long. It wasn't something she could argue against. She may very well grant him that title and increase his territory to the surrounding systems if necessary to ensure that his personal loyalty to her ran as deeply as his loyalty to the Empire. Perhaps it was time already to invite the Captain Holt to dine with her and her husband. Start to pluck the man out from beneath Piett's shadow and see what he was truly made of.

On what would appear to anyone else as a whim, she spun on her heel and strode purposefully towards the man in question. Handmaidens and royal guards alike rushed to keep up with her sudden move, and she caught a final glimpse of Admiral Piett's slightly distressed expression when he realized where she was headed. Good. Let him worry. She didn't like him, or his attitude towards women. And now he knew that.

Her gown swished in her wake, the train long and the colors black and silver. Gemstones from her home planet decorated the thing, making it heavy to wear but also making her sparkle like the stars, themselves. A gown chosen on purpose for that reason, the tightly fitting fabric showing off all her female curves, the generous train behind it making the gown regal instead of erotic. Her heels clicked loudly across the polished deck, a sound that made officers and crewers alike sit up and take notice.

She was the goddamn Lady Vader. That _planet_ beneath them was her home. This _ship_ was her home. And she—_SHE_—would decide who ruled it.

And after the revelation of what she needed to do in order to set this Empire to rights, she made absolutely certain to use that title like the weapon it was.

He came to full attention before she reached him, though she could detect a note of amusement in those eyes that tried so hard to be coolly distant. Probably noticing Piett's distress, too. "My Lady," he said reverently, bowing deeply.

"Captain Holt," she replied, nodding once. "I would like to extend an invitation to dine with my husband and myself if you would be so kind."

Her tone was rich and smooth, personal… and cracked through the bridge all the same. Good. Let them all hear. Just as she had let everyone in the hangar bays know when she had invited General Veers to dine with them the evening before. Let them all wonder and worry. And let the games of intrigue begin.

Holt bowed again, just as deeply. "It would be my unique honor," he said as he straightened. "May I ask when?"

"Tonight. Corde will send you details of time and location," she smiled faintly, turning towards the viewport. Eyes touching on her world… No, on the Lady Vader's world. Padme's world was nothing more than a memory, dead now for days. "How much longer until the pacification is complete?"

Holt signaled to his side, and a Lieutenant hurried over, placing a data pad in his hand. "Tiny pockets of resistance remain a minor problem in several regions," he said. "However General Veers is optimistic that these will be quelled within a month. So much so that he has appointed Colonel Covell to oversee the final stages of this campaign."

"Covell," she echoed, as if tasting the name and finding the flavor not quite to her liking. "I do not know him."

"Colonel Freja Covell," Holt read aloud. "I will have his records transferred to your personal unit in your quarters, my lady. To sum up his career—"

"Do you trust him?"

That caught the man off guard, threw off the smooth stride of his lecture. "Honestly, my lady? I do not know the man. I have never met him. However, I have met and I do know General Veers, and Veers has hand-selected and trained him personally over much of Covell's career. I think he would be highly effective to end these little rebellions. In short, if General Veers trusts him, then I trust him."

She nodded at that. "Is there any reason why General Veers will not personally finish this campaign?"

"General Veers is the Lord Vader's favored Army commander and a fixture with the Death Squadron's activities. If we are to leave this system in a day as you requested, we should not leave him behind."

"Is that the only reason?"

Holt paused, seemed to come to a decision within himself. "No. My lady, I am a simple man of few words. I—"

"If I wanted a politician's flapping tongue at my ear, I could have my pick of them," she cut him off, turning to face him again. "I chose you because I wanted a military man who understood the ins and outs of battle and command. I want honesty, not flowery words. I am not my husband, Captain Holt. I will not have you killed for presenting me with truth, regardless of its flavor."

He drew himself up to his full height again. "Then allow me to be blunt, my lady. Having General Veers lead what remains of this pacification campaign would be a waste. Worse, it would be an insult. The technology of the planet is beneath sub-par at best, and Colonel Covell will finish the pockets of resistance in a matter of days. I understand this is your homeworld, that this is also your system to rule, but the facts remain unchanged by that information. The General is needed elsewhere. If he trusts Covell to this mission, then we should rely on his judgment."

She nodded again, a single bob of her head. "Then that will do," she said. "Thank you for your honestly. I trust I can count on that again the future?"

"Absolutely, my lady."

* * *

He wasn't certain what to make of the changes in his wife. No, that wasn't entirely accurate. He very much approved of them, of the way she was now behaving as his wife should: full of power and command and dignity and… sure unbridled passion. Yes, that was the correct word for her shift in behavior: passion. There was that fire in her again, that fury of emotion that had first attracted him to her all those years before. And as he had predicted, Padme was using every ounce of power he gave her.

How lovely she was, silhouetted by the stars, framed in by the viewports of the bridge. And beyond those viewports, waltzing for her pleasure, was the rest of his famed Death Squadron. Six powerful Star Destroyers, the best the Fleet had ever seen. All crewed by the best officers and technicians the Empire could offer. All his... and now all hers.

Protecting her world. Protecting her.

And yet… yet there was something that did not settle right with him.

He crossed the command walkway without hurry, his cloak billowing behind him. His tunic today was the same color as her gown. The deepest black trimmed with silver, and upon his left ring finger rested a band of platinum set with a single black diamond. Trapped within it was a heart of blood, fused in much the same manner as he had fused the heart of her engagement ring. It amused him that he found joy wearing the ring, showing that this woman, this unstoppable force of nature, had a claim on his body.

Had a claim on his heart. It was a freedom unlike anything he had ever experienced, this sensation of being owned by her.

Captain Holt bowed at his approach, turning swiftly to tend to other duties. Likewise the royal guards shifted their positions, giving small amounts of privacy to their Lord and Lady. The handmaidens bowed low, nearly bending in half, before moving to join the red-robed guardians. All as it should be. All perfect. All for his lady wife.

"You play a dangerous game, my Padme," Anakin murmured, sliding his arms around her waist from behind. Planting a kiss on the crown of her head. "Are you certain you wish to rile Admiral Piett?"

Padme gave a ladylike snort, turning so that she could wrap her arms around her husband's neck. She gave him her most generous smile, unconcerned if the entire bridge saw them like this. "I could give two flips for what your precious Admiral Piett thinks. He's your creature, not mine."

"And Holt is now yours?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It is hardly my fault if it is perceived that way."

He smiled faintly, bringing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. "Just remember, my love, at the end of the day we all serve the Empire."

"Some more heartily than others, I've observed."

His smile faded into frown. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated, tilting her head away and thinking. "I… don't trust Piett," she said at last, lowering her voice. "There's something about him that is unsettling. It's more than just a man seeking to rise in his career. It's… I don't know. I can't put my finger on it. But I don't trust him at all."

"He is loyal to the Empire," Anakin shrugged. "That is enough for me at present. If he proves difficult, I will handle him. Until then…"

He trailed off, still bothered by her sudden distrust of the man leading his personal armada. He, himself, had not detected so much as a hint of deceit or betrayal in Piett. Well, nothing more than the usual. Piett wanted to wear the white of Grand Admiral one day, perhaps going as far as to become a Grand Moff. Maybe settling down to rule a system or two as a Regional Governor General in his retirement. Such things were not uncommon among the Empire.

And if Piett took any means necessary to achieve that goal? Again, Anakin wanted to shrug. The Emperor encouraged that level of competition in the upper echelons of his government. How else would the best of the best rise to the top? It was a sentiment he agreed with completely.

Padme compressed her lips in a thin line, but nodded. "I'll defer to you for now, my husband. But I won't let him destroy our plans. I want to see Imperial Center, to have our daughter born there, and to have your son with us. Anything that gets in the way of that is something I won't tolerate. I can't tolerate."

He allowed himself a soft smile at that, tilting her chin up to kiss her just as softly. "We will have that and more, my love. Now tell me, what's really bothering you?"

He caught the shift in her thoughts second before her eyes flickered to the viewports. "It's too much," she whispered, stepping out of the circle of his arms to stare out at Caelum as it came into view once more. "This was just the moon a week ago. Now it's… more. I don't…"

"You don't approve," he finished, frowning again. "Why?"

"Because it's not… it's not the production of my people. This is all the work of the Empire. I can't see how my people have anything to do with it."

He sighed slightly, stepping forward and leaning against the viewport. "You need to alter the way you view this, Padme. You still think as if your people are alone in the galaxy. They are not. And this installation on Caelum is very much a production of your people—only with the help of the Empire instead of doing this on their own. Sol is now part of the Empire, and you must see it that way."

He watched her bite her lower lip, felt her trying to do as he said. Felt the stubbornness rise just as quickly, the need to see her world as it once was. But it wasn't, and it hadn't been since the moment Obi-wan had hidden there with his son.

"You're right," she said at last, closing her eyes. "I do need to see it that way. Please, just give me time. It's a lot to take in, and I want to be perfectly okay with this."

"Do you want to stay?"

Her head snapped up. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Just what it is, my Padme. If you wish to stay, to oversee the destruction of the resistance on Sol and the completion of Padma Jocale on Caelum, then I will instruct the _Devastator_ to remain. Understand that this just isn't my life now, but ours. While I cannot delay much longer in recovering my son, I want to ensure you are happy as well. That you come to terms with things that cannot be changed."

The spike of anger, of resentment preceded the memory of her last punishment. And fast on its heels came that renewed desire to see the Emperor fall, the Empire remade, and her people free. He savored those emotions, those thoughts, rolling them around in his head like a sweet treat on his tongue.

"No," she said firmly. "_MY_ place is at your side. I'll go with you whenever you are ready to leave. We must find Luke and this Obi-wan character. And if that means I have to leave my homeworld for a time, then I will. This is more important."

He nodded, reaching out a hand to caress her cheek. "Then give the command, my love. I want to hear your voice guiding us to the future you plan."

She kissed his palm, the look of devotion in her eyes nearly undoing him, before she spun on her heel.

"Admiral Piett," she called, her voice as fine and strong as any commander's he had ever heard. "Please prepare the fleet to leave upon the morrow. Captain Holt will be transferring to the _Devastator_, which will remain here until called to return to us. He will oversee the final stages of converting Sol to its rightful strength and place in the Empire. He speaks with my voice and my will in my absence."

Piett was shrewd enough to hide his feelings on the transfer of his men without his permission, most especially under the auspices of a woman giving the orders. And it was only with the barest movement of his eyes that he glanced away from the Lady Vader towards her Lord husband, earning a slight nod from Vader in return.

"Yes, my Lady," he replied crisply, turning to his own staff to relay the orders.

Yes, Anakin thought, his lady wife did play the most dangerous of games. But so far she played them extremely well.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello! It's been a while, and I apologize for that. Because this is a dark story that has fragrant hints of erotica, it's sometimes hard to keep up the intensity that is required for this kind of twisted story. I'd rather take my time to craft a chapter worthy to be read, than rush through and give you all-the lovely readers that have favorited and followed this story-a sub-par chapter. I hope the wait was worth it this time. :)

**As ever, this is a very dark story with triggers inside. Please keep that in mind if you read. If this is not your cup of tea, DO NOT READ!** This is the warning, folks. For those that enjoy their love stories on the darker, Sith-ier side, welcome and continue to enjoy. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

She was learning that the love of a Sith Lord wasn't like anything she had ever experienced.

Padme Skywalker nee Amidala, the Lady Vader, stood on the bridge of the Executor, hands resting gently on the lip of her favored viewport. She pretended to watch the marbled tunnel that was hyperspace, pretended to let her gaze trace over the shadows and light that bound the galaxy together, all the while her gaze stared fixedly at her husband's reflection in the transparisteel. A tiny smile crooked the corner of her mouth, one brought on by love and lust and hatred and the ungodly thirst for revenge. And pride.

She could not forget the pride she took in her husband's power.

The Lord Vader was magnificent to behold this day, a dark brooding monarch that seemed to draw the very life from the air around him. He swallowed up every molecule of precious oxygen, every radiant bit of the light, the very essence that made existence possible. For once, it wasn't anger that caused this vortex of death to swallow up the good. It was determination, the restless drive to do more than prowl around a ship when his quarry was so close.

He was the personification of the ultimate hunter, a black wolf with golden eyes, and his fangs wanted desperately to taste the blood of his enemy.

They were close, so very close now, after the clue had been discovered. The trail still hot and fresh.

A woman had come forward from a tiny province in China, speaking of a strange man in strange clothing that carried with him a squawking child. A boy child. She had recognized his worth to the Lord Vader only due to the strange item that dangled from his belt. A lightsaber she now understood it to be, one that nearly matched the one that hung from the Lord Vader's belt. The man had called himself "Ben Kenobi" and had remained as a tenant in her rooming house until the day before the Lord Vader had brought freedom to Sol.

This "Ben" had left the rooming house mere minutes before the first ship had entered Sol's orbit.

Her husband had torn that building apart, searching every inch of it for a clue. For something to lead him to Obi-wan and his son. All the while the woman had wept in Padme's arms, trying to curl herself into a bow of contrition, horrified that Lord Vader's missing son had been in her house the entire time, and she had not known of it. Nothing Padme had said could soothe the woman, not until Anakin had bid her to rise and had forgiven her.

Forgiven her at Padme's urging, if the truth were to be told. At her most insistent, begging, all but throwing herself in between him and the woman. She had seen the dark light blossom in those eyes, and the stories, the rumors of how he had killed his own men in fits of such anger, had strangled them for delivering bad news, came to forefront of her mind.

She had interceded on the woman's behalf. Because the woman did not know at the time that she harbored Luke and his abductor. Could not have known.

Had interceded because this was her planet to rule, her people to punish. And she would not let him kill an innocent in her presence. Especially not when to do so would take time away from finding Obi-wan and Luke. And most especially not when such an act would delay her—their—plans for true conquest. He'd subsided at that, agreeing with her. Promising her pain for defying him in public, but in the end sparing the woman's life.

A small victory.

A shudder went through her, so powerful that she had to grip the ledge of the viewport before she collapsed. It was merely an echo of what they had done together hours ago, a pleasure so intense that she'd blacked out from it. Coming to herself with the feel of those powerful hands wrapped around her throat as that powerful body plumbed her deepest recesses. Not squeezing the life out of her, but holding tightly. So tightly. Until her pulse vibrated against his palms. Until he could feel every breath that fought to get down her throat.

Until her hands reciprocated, clutching his neck, nails raking fire across the tender precious flesh that stretched across his jugulars. Until crimson fluid had run down his collar bone and she pressed upwards to lick her tongue wildly at the precious life water. They'd come together that time. The explosion so powerful that the screams torn from their throats nearly shattering the mirror over her dresser.

It had been their fourth time together that morning as the ship jumped into hyperspace. Heading down the ethereal pathways that would take them to a planet called Naboo. And the longer that trip took, the worse his restlessness—and his temper—became. Soothed only by her presence, by her body when mere proximity to him wasn't enough. But it saved the crew, the men that served faithfully and whose only crime was being on the same ship as their Dark Lord when he was in a foul mood.

Padme glanced back over her shoulder this time, watching the magnificent beast that was her husband as he spoke with Admiral Piett and General Veers. The three were gathered around a holotable, making their plans. And for the moment, for a blessed few moments, Padme was not the focus of that violent, vicious, and utterly irresistible mind.

Another small victory.

* * *

It always amazed him when she thought he wasn't touching her mind, that he had forgotten her in some small part. He didn't need to turn his head to know where she was, to feel her presence as if her breath still panted against his neck. All of her was revealed to him, to his mind's eye. From the delicate arch of her foot to the bruises that ringed her neck like a collar. It was the reason she wore the white gown this afternoon, the one that covered her from neck to near fingertip. Belted lightly at the waist with a cord of silver.

Belted lightly at the waist, as it wasn't only her graceful neck that bore his handprints.

Her agony drifted through the Force to him, a sweet as any perfume, as rancid as any rotting flesh. His fault that she hurt, that her body was used as roughly as he dared without harming their daughter. It was her fault that she received the treatment, that she was constantly in his way today, in his face and challenging him. Distracting him as only she could.

Like she did now, wearing his bruises and her pain as if taunting him with them. Showing off for him by draping herself in yards of white silk. Gift-wrapping her torment and inviting him to reveal it one aching millimeter at a time.

Beneath the holotable, one hand balled into a shaking fist. Damn her for this distraction! Why could she not suffer in their quarters, languish in her pleasure-filled agony across their marriage bed? Why make him suffer when he could not afford distraction?

The answer, of course, was because she could. Because she was as prideful, as stubborn and willful and as undeniably enticing as the Dark Side, itself. Because, for some reason, she cared about the lives of the men that served on this ship—even the idiots. She had come between him and his justice several different times today, soothing his temper with her kisses and her fire. In some part of him, he knew it was necessary. That she was doing the job of a wife, of the wife he had longed for even before taking Beru.

But she could not take much more, not if the waves of agony he felt in her were accurate. He would have to find another way to satiate his anger, his impatient desire to be done with this whole business of finding his son. He wanted his daughter and his son. He wanted his wife at his side on Imperial Center where she belonged, not lingering on a Star Destroyer.

Again, it all circled back to her. This longing, this need for family and to be at peace, was her fault. Just as her pain was her own fault. And it was her fault that he hungered for the pain she displayed just to torment him. Just as it was his fault that he loved her so desperately.

He loved and hated her. Loved and loathed and worshiped and adored. And so much more...

The two men at the table with him, his most trusted advisors, had fallen silent. Busily looking into troop placement and fleet movements, adjusting things in minute, unnecessary ways. Giving him as much privacy as they could without being obvious about it. Without pointing out that their leader had stopped paying attention to the planning session for some time.

Without pointing out that he was staring at his wife and not the holotable.

A slight twitch of the Force had his mind rewinding, replaying with rapid speed the conversation. "I agree," he said at last, glancing back at the near perfect plan before them. "Sending in an advanced scout ship would not be prudent at this time. If Queen Jamilia is working with Obi-wan, she will no doubt be prepared for that sort of thing. No, we need to strike hard and fast and blockade the planet before Obi-wan is aware we are on to him."

Piett appeared to relax visibly, his emotions of discomfort rapidly dissipating now that Lord Vader was back on topic. General Veers remained unchanged, something that pleased Anakin. The man could ignore what needed to be ignored, and anticipate what needed to be observed. And the darkness in him, the gaping hole that was the loss of his wife and son that he tried to fill with single-minded duty, impressed him the most.

"Very good, my lord," Piett was saying. "Shall I issue the new orders to the fleet?"

Anakin ignored him, continuing to hold Veers gaze. "Can your troops handle the new plans?"

Veers glanced down at the holomap, pursing his lips a moment. "I believe so. I will require a repositioning of the Tyrant and Stalker to these specifications," he replied, shifting the images of the two Star Destroyers in question slightly above and below their current location. "This will allow maximum efficiency in deploying the ground vehicles. I take it this is a full occupation, my lord?"

"It will be," he murmured darkly. "If Queen Jamilia is truly harboring Obi-wan and my son purposefully rather than unknowingly, then there will be a change in rulership of Naboo rather swiftly. We will be needed to maintain the peace until a proper ruler can be elected."

Piett smiled thinly, enjoying the notion of an Imperial selected ruler. Again, Veers stood impassively. And for the first time, Anakin began to see just what his wife disliked in the Admiral. Perhaps, after the fall of Naboo, there would be a change in the leadership of his fleet, too.

* * *

She lay in his arms, feeling the rhythm of that terrible and wonderful heart in his chest slow to a normal beat. Her husband, the one person she hated and adored with equal measure. And still it often felt unreal that he was hers. There was a large part of her was absolutely certain she had suffered a stroke or some other brain injury. That she lay in a hospital somewhere, hooked up to machines that kept her body breathing, and left her mind free to explore this chilling representation of her darkest fantasies.

For what else could it be? How else would she explain being on an actual space ship, flying along through a hole in the fabric of the universe at faster than light speeds, in order to reach an alien planet? Such things only existed in the wildest of science fiction, in the reckless parts of imagination. They did not exist in the logical, proper, and orderly mind of a Senator.

But his hand felt so warm, so hot, as it brushed back her sweat-slicked hair, her body pulsing with remembered pain and pleasure from the love-making just moments before. The blood in her mouth, from where she had left a perfect imprint of her teeth in his shoulder, tasted like copper and electricity and life. She could feel the faintest of vibrations as the ship moved through this blatant disregard for the laws of physics as she knew them that they called hyperspace. The air, itself, carried that faint stale tang of recycled oxygen.

It all pointed to reality, the sum total of these parts adding up to the truth. She was really there with him, was truly his wife. She was Padme Amidala, the Lady Vader of the Galactic Empire and ruler of the Sol system. Her will was absolute, and if her husband had anything to say about it, her absolute rule would extend itself to more than just her homeworld.

She had turned her back on democracy and become the monarch, all to save her planet from itself.

"You doubt yourself again," he murmured, dragging her atop him once more. His hands cupped her face, searching her eyes as his power searched her heart. "Do not doubt that you made the right decision. Sol would have come under the jurisdiction of the Empire soon enough. Be glad that it came to its fate at our hands, rather than some dispassionate conqueror."

"But that's just it," She said, pausing long enough to kiss his palm. "Will I not be the dispassionate conqueror for the Naboo people soon?"

He smiled gently, his hands caressing down her cheek, encircling her delicate neck. "No, my beloved. You will be their salvation. I have decided to give Naboo to you, and every planet I conquer in the search for my son. I want you to remake them in your own image, train their new rulers to follow our ways, our school of thought."

She frowned before she could stop herself. And realized how very foolish it was to try and hide her feelings from him. He would know her heart even if her visage was as composed as ever. It was something he had been upfront about in the beginning of their relationship all those years ago. He would always probe her mind, her heart, her very will. Because it brought him pleasure to do so, and now because it ensured he could trust her completely.

Because it ensured that he could bring her just as much pleasure as she brought him.

"You disapprove," he continued, letting his hands slip down to her shoulders.

The sheet of silk pulled back from them as if of its own accord, leaving her bare and vulnerable atop him. Bare save for the collar with its enormous black diamond, and the wedding rings on their fingers. He rose up, his mouth replacing what his hands had begun, kissing her deeply before continuing down her throat. Those hands continued to her breasts, starting a fire inside her again that would not be quenched until she was screaming his name anew.

"I… I… oh, gods, Anakin," she gasped, trying to think straight and loosing that battle. "Yes, yes, I disapprove. I wasn't like this before you. I believed in democracy… in… in the … the people's choice…"

His mouth lifted from its torturous pleasure of her body. "We believe in democracy in the Empire," he replied. "Just not complete democracy any longer. That sort lead to the fall of the Old Republic, left it bogged down in chaos and deliberations until system after system rebelled. That was when our Master and I rose up to reestablish order. I have told you these things."

"Yes, you have… I—" she cut off, placing her fingertips over his mouth before they could return to their distraction. "I am not comfortable with it."

"Become comfortable," he said behind her hand, grinning widely. "It is the way of things now. Any system pledging allegiance to the Emperor is granted sovereignty over itself so long as it conforms to the rules we give. It is up to each system how they wish to enforce those rules, and its citizens are gifted with the facts that that they may travel to any system and know the rules haven't changed. They can call on any Imperial ship and know that aid will come to them. Is that not what your democracy was trying to create for itself?"

"Yes, but you are twisting it again, Anakin. It is not sovereignty if one does not have the right to choose how they wish to lead their lives."

He laughed at that, threw back his head and laughed and laughed. As if she were a child trying to explain a complicated concept she barely understood. Her temper flashed, her pride pricked, and the growing fire in her shifted from passion to outrage.

"I do not think freedom is funny," she snapped, attempting to slide off of him.

His hands appeared around her waist, holding her in place. "I did not tell you to leave me, my wife," he said, still grinning widely. "See, even in our marriage, there are rules. You will obey me, because here I know what is best for you. You do not like it, but you understand it and accept it. And because I am kind and I love you, I listen to what you want and make allowances within the rules to appease you. So the rulers of their respective star systems act accordingly. You will do the same for Naboo and for every other planet and system I will hand you. Not only because I love you, but because of this very conversation. Because you will use these systems, govern them properly, and make them stronger for it."

"So merit does play a part in your choices of leadership?"

"Of course," he said instantly… and then nodded as it dawned on him what she was driving at. "You still believe Piett is unfit for leadership of our fleet."

Padme tried to shift again, this time in her discomfort rather than trying to pull away from him. "I fear," she said simply. "I fear that Captain Holt was a rare find, and that when we leave Naboo, I will not have another like him to enforce our will."

His hands returned to her face, cupping it once again. "You are so beautiful when you lie to me," he said against her lips. "You hate what I am doing. You despise conquerors, and we both know that Piett is a conqueror at heart. That is why you dislike him so, and that is why you chafe at the thought of ruling Naboo. You do not want to be a conqueror. But that does not matter anymore. You are a conqueror, my Padme, by virtue of your marriage to me. The galaxy will see you as such. They will love you and hate you as I do. Yet in the end, they will understand that we know what is best for them. Or do you think the way your people surrendered willingly to me was the best thing for them?"

He had her there, and she knew it. He knew it.

"I hate you for it," She sighed, giving up as he rolled them on the bed until he was atop her. "I hate you for taking over my world. And I'll hate you for taking over Naboo and all the others."

"But you won't stop me," he said, gazing down at her.

"No," she shook her head. "No, I won't."

"Why?" he whispered into her ear. "Tell me why you won't stop me."

"Because I can't."

"That's part of it, yes," he murmured against her neck. "What's the real reason?"

"B-because you are right," she whispered back, the final word becoming something of a sigh as his hands returned to what they did best.

"Yes," he whispered again. "And you know it. For now, I am right. In the future, we will adjust our plans accordingly. But for now, I am right. I lead, and you will follow."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with this story. I know it doesn't update as fast as my others, but this one takes more concentration and effort than the others. This one is dark, obsessive, and scary to write at times. So please bear with me when I take a while to update. For those that have waited patiently, thank you! :D

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK STORY. IF DARK STORIES ARE NOT YOUR FORTE, **PLEASE STOP READING RIGHT NOW**. Otherwise, please enjoy a truly Sith-inspired love story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Her thighs stung as she slipped into the hot water of the bath, trying not to notice the slight tinge of pink that infused the water at her entry. It wasn't the baby, thank all the stars. The Emdee droid had performed its usual complete examination of her that morning, as it always did after their more aggressive sessions together. She could barely walk, but the baby was fine. The faint coloring of blood was from a tear inside, from being ridden hard until she was raw.

But at least she had finally told him the truth. And he had admitted, in his own twisted way, that she was right. He led now because it was needed. If and when that changed, he was willing to listen to her and entertain her thoughts on how to continue with their plans. He would let her protect her people as much as she could, indeed adding to them by making the Naboo hers as well.

And when the time was right, he would stand with her when she struck against the Emperor.

But before that, she needed to gather strong leaders, competent men and women—for she would see women in uniform if they so desired it, the Emperor's will or not!—to secure the systems in her control. To be ready to move when the time was right, so that the coup would be as bloodless as possible. That was her true goal. To take over the Empire, to set the galaxy to rights, and to do so with as minimum casualties as possible.

It would take time to accomplish this. A lot of time. But she was patient. She had the time. Nothing could begin in earnest until Leia was born, until Luke was safely with them, and this Obi-wan person was left to the mercies of her husband.

It struck her then that she had never asked Anakin about this Obi-wan. What was he like? How had he earned the utter trust of her husband, enough so that he had access to Anakin's only son? He had to have been a friend, she mused, sinking underneath the perfumed water. A friend so close to him that he was nearly like family. A brother of some sort, perhaps? Maybe even a fellow… what were they called, the ones that were supposed Guardians of the Old Republic?

She shook her head, letting the curls of her hair float about her with the movement. She was going to have to start paying attention to these things. The doctors had warned her that her attention span would shorten as the pregnancy progressed. Her short term memory would suffer as well, and that was something she could not allow to happen at all. No, she would have to try harder to focus, to remember.

Lives could be lost in the time it took her to shuffle through half-forgotten thoughts. The stakes were too high.

She surfaced, taking a deep, soothing breath. "Dorme," she called.

"Here, my lady."

"Bring me a data pad if you would be so kind."

"Of course, my lady."

Dorme returned with the requested item, hovering to the side as Corde filled her hands with scented cleanser—distilled essence of Japanese cherry blossoms from Sol, like the tiny petals from that same flower that floated in her bath water—and began to work it through Padme's hair. Normally, Padme would have done this herself. She found it slightly mortifying that someone was around her to wash her hair like she was some sort of invalid. But the heat of the water was so wonderful, relaxing muscles that where sore from that last round with her husband.

This time she allowed Corde to do it. And she made a firm declaration in her mind that this would be the last time. Even if Corde's firm fingers were like magic on her scalp, massaging away the faint headache between her eyes…

"Dorme," she whispered, half surprised the word was even coherent. "Find and read aloud all the information on Obi-wan Kenobi."

"The requested information is blocked, my lady," Dorme responded after a moment.

Padme frowned, reaching up a hand to stop Corde. "Are you using my passcode?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Try again, please."

"The same response, my lady. The information is blocked."

She sat forward, waving Dorme over. Without being asked, and indeed without realizing it, Dorme brought a towel over and Padme dried her hands upon it. She was too focused on that pad, on the information she needed. She keyed for voice recognition. He was going to be very upset with her over this, she knew. More than likely punishing her worse than before. But now she was beyond curious. Now she needed this information as if her life depended on it.

Because it just might.

"Padme Vader nee Amidala," she said aloud. "Recognition code: Hapspir, Barrini, Corbolan, Triaxis."

It was Anakin's personal code, one she should not have known. And it worked like a charm. The network—or whatever passed for a network on a Star Destroyer—opened wide before her. She settled back into the bath, allowing Corde to continue to cleanse her hair. A satisfied smile on her face.

"I probably only have one shot at this," she said aloud. "I might as well make it worth it. Read everything to me that comes across that screen, Dorme. Let's find out all about this Obi-wan Kenobi fellow."

* * *

She at alone at her dressing table, staring down at the data pad in her hands. Her handmaidens had long since finished preparing her for the day, her hair sculpted into the latest style from Imperial Center, her gown this day of rich deep blue. Made of fabrics from her homeworld, but like her hair, done up in the current favored style of the Imperial Court. A long narrow skirt with a fishtail train, along with an overdress/tunic that was short in the front and long in the back, the latter embroidered heavily with symbols unknown to her eyes.

Around her neck, beneath the high collar of the gown, was the choker with its giant black stone. He had told her not to take it off—ever. Only his hands could remove it. A new form of punishment to her pride since he could not harm her flesh until the baby was born.

Her hand trailed of its own accord down to her abdomen, gently rubbing the bundle of cells too tiny to see that existed in her womb. She was only a month along, if that. Far too early to show, to feel the life that grew inside her. Save for the bouts of sickness that happened in the 'morning,' she would not have considered herself pregnant at all. And yet already her mind and emotions were preparing for the arrival of her daughter, her hands already aching to hold the squalling little form when she entered the world.

That thought drew her mind back to the image on her data pad. What must it be like for her husband, to have a son out there in the universe yet being unable to hold him? To love him and nurture him and hold him close when he cried for comfort? Maddening, she mused, and utterly heartbreakingly sad and frightening and everything in between. What would she feel if someone took little Leia from her arms moments after her birth?

Rage, she thought. Utter, consuming, uncontrollable rage. That someone so horrible would have stolen that life from her.

Her eyes took in the image of Obi-wan Kenobi, the most hated and hunted man in the known galaxy. He did not look evil. Blond-brown hair, about the length of her husbands, floated around a gentle face. Eyes that were meant to be filled with compassion and calm thoughts, stared back at her. Almost imploring her for help. He looked… good. Not in the way that one would say that a person "looked good" for their age. No, this man with the kind eyes looked as if his heart was filled with nothing but hope and duty and all that was good in a person.

She shook her head in disbelief. How this man had done so horrible a thing as kidnap Anakin's son was beyond her.

Padme wasn't an idiot. She understood well that the most heinous of acts were often hidden behind kind eyes. Admiral Piett, for example, looked the perfect part of what an Imperial officer should be: strong, determined, and fair in his judgments and orders. He was a walking contradiction to, say, her chosen champion of Captain Holt. Holt looked as if he were born in the wrong century, with eyes that calculated and weighed and often seemed wanting of blood. He would have been at home in Ancient Rome in a gladiator pit, eagerly chopping away his opponents until the sands ran red with blood.

But it was Holt that was strong, determined and fair. And it was Piett that bore the lust for power and the calculation in his eyes to see events fall in his favor, no matter the cost.

She shivered, glancing back at the portrait of Kenobi. "You aren't a monster," she whispered to him. "Why did you do this? Why did you break my husband's heart?"

"Because he could."

Padme jumped, startled at the sound. Her hand reached automatically for the tiny blaster kept in her vanity drawer, the action halted before it really began. Anakin's reflection grew in the mirror as he crossed the distance from door to where she sat. Her heart lept in fear and adoration as it always did at his appearance. Love and loathing, and everything in between. He smiled for her, tasting her emotions, she knew, and finding their flavor pleasing. So when he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, she leanded back against him, the fingers of one hand interlacing with his, holding tightly.

"I would kill him for hurting you like this," she said quietly, firmly. Slightly surprised to realize she meant each word. "He had no right."

Anakin shook his head. "He thinks he had every right, my love. He thinks he's protecting both me and the boy."

She frowned, turning to gaze up at him. "Protecting you both from what?"

"From me," he shrugged fractionally, a tad uncomfortably. "From what he believes I have become."

She felt him start to pull away, and wouldn't let go. "Anakin," she whispered. "I love you. Nothing you would ever say or do would change that. How long will it take before we can be honest with each other?"

He stared at her through the reflection in the mirror, and she waited for his eyes to fade to that yellow. Waited for dark pits of true emotion to run yellow with lust and passion, silencing her questions with a lust for her body. It was his way, and she knew it. She wouldn't fight it, even though it would hurt her inside. She was his wife now, not just his mistress or lover or whatever it was they had started as. She was his wife, and a wife had a right to share in her husband's pain, if only to help soothe it in some way.

Those eyes stayed their deep dark blue, and he lead her from the vanity to the chase. She sat, leaning back as he joined her, his head resting on her breasts, his hand replacing hers to caress the child within her.

"He was my teacher in the ways of the Force," he began. "He helped free me from the bonds of slavery—"

"You were a slave?" She interrupted, shocked to think this powerful man had let anyone hold dominion over him in any way. That such concepts as slavery existed in his Empire. "I'm sorry, please continue."

The tiniest of smiles touched his lips as he shifted his gaze up towards hers. "I was born in slavery, my Padme. My mother was a slave born into slavery, as was her mother, and her mother's mother, and so forth. A whole legacy of slaves on a desert planet that offered as much hope of freedom as it did moisture for rain. A Jedi—a Force user trained from birth to serve the Old Republic—named Qui-gon Jinn found me. He freed me and brought me to the old Jedi Temple on Imperial Center for training. In the tiny month of time we had together, he was like a father to me.

"In the days of the decline of the Old Republic, Jedi were only allowed to have one padawan—one student—at a time. Qui-gon's student was none other than Obi-wan Kenobi," he continued, eyes fluttering closed as her hand slipped through his hair. "When Qui-gon fell in battle against a Sith Lord, it was Obi-wan that became my teacher and I his padawan."

"The Jedi fought the Sith? You were trained by one of these Jedi?"

"Yes. I came into my power under the guidance of the Jedi. I once stood as a Jedi Knight, myself," he chuckled. "Running around a crumbling Republic, attempting to establish order from chaos by being nothing more than a servant to stifling and over-restrictive rules. The Jedi fell because they could not change and adapt, you see. They were the supposed "guardians of peace and security for the Republic" for over a thousand years. During that time, nothing changed within them. Not a rule, not a lesson. Nothing."

She frowned again, shaking her head. "One thousand years is a long time to remain stagnant. Surely the galaxy changed around them?"

"It did, my love. It truly did. Only they were too blinded by ritual to understand or see the scope of those changes. Until one rose up and threw aside the mantle of Jedi to become something more."

"A Sith Lord."

He smiled again. "Very good, my love. The Sith were warriors of the Dark Side of the Force, something that the Jedi, in their blindness, would not embrace. They saw the power of the Dark Side and the creed of the Sith as monstrous and destructive. They called the Sith abhorrent monstrosities that must be stopped at all cost."

Padme shook her head again. "It sounds as if the Jedi were too rigid in their orderly rules. They saw even the hint of chaos as a threat, without understanding that decay and entropy are often part of the cycle of life. Balance cannot be achieved by order alone. Surely, they must have known this."

"I believe that they did, once," he conceded. "But it was a truth they had long forgotten, buried away behind their stagnation. One cannot advance without trial, without tribulation. One cannot find the path to themselves and greater power without tests to prove that worth. My Master, our beloved Emperor, remembered that truth. And with a heavy heart, he brought down the decaying republic and its unchanging Jedi. He established the Sith order, freed people from the rigorous routines of their lives and offered them the chance to better themselves."

When she shifted this time, it wasn't in agreement with him. But they had had the argument over the Emperor's doctrines many times in their short marriage. She would not pick open that fight again, not when he was finally opening up to her. Not when he was telling her the truth about Obi-wan and his son and this whole Jedi thing.

Whether he caught that thought or not, she couldn't tell. But no pain came to answer it, and she let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"Go on," she prompted, her hand shaking only slightly as it continued to pass through his hair.

"Obi-wan, like many of the Jedi, did not appreciate the New Order our Emperor created. They stood against him, and he offered to me a place at his side if I were to assist him. I believed in what he was doing, felt the Dark Side in his teachings. It was like a piece of me that was missing had somehow found its way back into my soul. I took his offer. I helped him pull down the Jedi Order and execute those that would not submit."

She winced, thinking of all the people that had died. All those Jedi that had thought what they were doing was right. "Did he not give them a chance to surrender?"

Anakin shook his head. "They would not have taken it even if he offered, my Padme. Do not feel pity for them. They chose their fate. They could not see the truth and as such they had no place in the New Order. Understand, my love, that the Emperor did not crown himself in blood and battle. He crowned himself in the very Senate chamber, surrounded by every Senator from every sector in the Old Republic. And they cheered for him, begged him to take the crown and use his passion to make the Republic into something useful again. To bring order from the chaos that the galaxy had become. The Jedi would not agree, would not surrender even when the systems that gave them their authority asked them to stand aside. Our Emperor had no choice but to label every single Jedi an enemy of the Empire."

"And it was such reasoning as this that prompted Obi-wan to act?"

He nodded again. "He was my brother, you understand, and a father- figure in place of Qui-gon. He… He thinks he's protecting me even now. I cannot explain it better than that, my love. For all that I hate in him, I understand that he is trying to save me from what I have become. From what the galaxy has become. I know him well enough to know that he believes my son will be my salvation. So he intends to raise the boy as a Jedi and send him after me."

She was shaking her head so vehemently that he reached up and cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked it. Tears she had been unaware that she was shedding.

"How can you forgive him, my husband?" She whispered. "He took your son. If what you say is true, he's the one that turned his back on his oaths. He turned his back on the people that he swore to protect. If they wanted an Emperor, if they wanted to be ruled by this new point of view, this Sith thing you speak of, how could he do what he has done? How can he believe this is the right thing to do?"

"Because he loves me like a brother," Anakin answered simply. "Because I still bear that same love for him in return. I may have forgiven him for the sake of that love, but understand that it will not still my hand. I will kill him for what he has taken from me. I will reclaim my son. And he will become our son, Padme. I want him to call you mother. I want him to call Leia as his sister. I want that more than I can ever tell you."

"I want that, too," she said, pulling him down against her. "I want you, and our daughter and our son. And I want to see this Obi-wan in chains for the pain he has caused you. I want him to know the error of his ways."

He tipped his head to the side, frowning. "You would see him as a slave?"

"No," she said fiercely. "No one deserves life as a slave. But everyone deserves the chance to repent. If he is as devoted to your salvation as you say, shouldn't you do the same for him?"

Again, he paused, regarding this wonderful woman beneath him. "Are you suggesting that I try to turn him?"

"Turn him?"

"Bring him to the Dark Side of the Force," he explained, that grin returning, growing into a wondrous smile. "I had not considered that, honestly. I had been so focused on finding him and bringing Luke home. Until I found you, I had nothing but the revenge to fuel me. Now… now I think you are right. Maybe he is worthy of salvation."

"Can you do it?"

"Either I will, and he will know true freedom. Or I will fail, and he will die."

"But there is no try?" she asked, smiling softly at him.

He laughed. "No, Padme. There is no try. Sith Lords deal in absolutes."

She felt his hands slide down her neck, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her dress. Her head slipped back, a soft moan leaving her mouth. "And what… what does a sith… Sith Lord's wife deal in?" she managed out between gasps.

His answer blew all coherent thought from her mind.


End file.
